The Contract
by JinxedSydney
Summary: Modern AU. When her father dies young, Arya Stark hires the mysterious assassin Jaqen H'ghar to dispose of her father's killers. The two form an unlikely friendship, and when the job is done Jaqen must leave, but he promises to return...when she has the most need of him. Valar morghulis.
1. Chapter 1

**_This is a modern AU based on a picture I happened to find on deviantart. _****_Please_****_ make sure to check out: piggie50 dot com deviantart dot com (forward slash) art (forward slash) Assassin-AU-441866651. Sorry it has to be posted like that but FFN is a bit touchy that way…_**

**_Here is the description for the picture that set my mind churning: _**

**_"_****_When her father dies young, Arya Stark hires the mysterious assassin Jaqen H'ghar to dispose of her father's killers. The two form an unlikely friendship, and when the job is done Jaqen must leave, but he promises to return...when she has the most need of him. Valar morghulis." Thank you piggie50 for the inspiration!_**

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><p>She remembered that her dad had told her to have a good day that morning and ruffled her hair as she ran out of the back door to catch a ride with her sister to school. Had she cared much about her short, brown hair or put as much effort into styling it like Sansa did, Arya would have been mad at her father for messing with it. But, she didn't and she wasn't. When Ned showed up to the high school later on to surprise his girls with an off-campus trip for lunch, Arya was thrilled to escaped the school grounds, even if Sansa was whining about having to leave her boyfriend, Joffrey, behind.<p>

And now, as the shell-shocked girl realized that it was the last time her father touched her, the anguish slowly stretched its fingers into every part of her numb body which sat on the hard plastic chair in an interview room at the police station. "I'm sorry, what?" Arya asked, shaking her head to return her attention to the detective who was seated across the metal table.

"Do you need to use the restroom to clean up?" the female officer gently urged with a glance towards the hands Arya had previously hidden beneath the edge of the table.

Blinking rapidly to keep the tears in check, Arya nodded; she couldn't swallow, let alone speak any words from her suddenly constricted throat, knowing that she still was covered in her father's blood. The sixteen year-old followed the policewoman to a small, private bathroom. With a reminder that she would be outside of the door, the detective allowed the teenager solitude.

Staring at the splotches of dried blood on her hands and arms, Arya turned on the hot water spigot and began to wash as a sob erupted from deep within her. She furiously lathered and then reapplied soap over and over again, weeping and scrubbing her skin raw until the door slowly opened. The detective reached forward and turned off the water before pulling down paper towels and gently drying the girl's arms and hands, without a judgmental word or look. The detective offered Arya a clean t-shirt and helped the distraught girl change from her bloodied blouse. Supported by the sympathetic police detective's arm around her shoulder, Arya's body shook in heaving gasps as her sobs subsided on their path back to the interview room.

A can of soda and candy bar had been placed on the table in front of Arya's chair. Mutely, the girl peeled back the wrapper and chewed her way through the chocolate, mind floating back to the streets the Stark trio had taken to go to lunch. They had walked from campus, Ned insisting to take them to the burger joint a couple of blocks away. Sansa was droning on and on about Joffrey and prom before Arya snapped at her sister to shut up.

_"__Arya," Ned chastised her, trying to suppress a chuckle. He looked as exasperated as Arya felt from Sansa's ramblings about the captain of the football team, all-star quarterback and perfectly coiffed son of Ned's recently deceased business partner. Robert Baratheon had died just months before of a heart attack, although no one was surprised by the morbidly obese man's demise. Joffrey and Sansa were constantly between making out and making up. Personally, Arya thought her sister's boyfriend was a rude bully who was a bit too dramatic for a boy. His equally theatrical mother had hired a driver/bodyguard for her spoiled teenager after contriving some story that Robert had been targeted before his death. Arya wasn't sure who was more extreme, the mother or son, but she couldn't stand either of them and Sansa's fascination with the pair drove her younger sister crazy._

_Arya had stopped to tie her shoelaces; the high top Converse shoes had a way of constantly untying themselves. She dropped to her knees and told to her dad and sister to go on and that she'd catch up. As Arya finished a double knot for good measure, car tires screeched to a halt just up the sidewalk. The kneeling daughter jerked her head up as a masked man in all black clothing lunged from the passenger seat, gun pointed at her father's head. Sansa screamed at the top of her lungs until the man in black brought his gun across her face with a resounding smack. The elder sister wilted to the sidewalk as Arya saw the flash of the muzzle near her father's head, accompanied by a small popping noise. The gunman returned to the car in two short strides and it sped past Arya who was trying to move towards her family._

"Where's my sister?" Arya asked the detective after finishing the chocolate bar. She felt exhausted, like she had been forced to run extra laps in P.E. class. Where was everyone? Why was she sitting at the police station alone? Why wasn't her mom here? Or Jon?

"She's with your mother at the hospital, remember?" The detective reached forward and patted Arya's raw, pink hand.

"If I remembered, I wouldn't have asked," Arya snapped, chest heaving with a surge of adrenaline. No one would leave her alone on purpose; she needed to get home.

Patiently, the detective reiterated that Sansa was admitted to the hospital with a concussion and laceration to the face. Arya recalled the deafening sirens, the flurry of yelling, pushing, and screaming for her father as someone pulled her away from his body. Catelyn was with Sansa at the hospital and would arrive soon, the detective assured the lone Stark.

Arya's annoyed gaze returned to her own hands. She pulled them both into her lap and inspected her palms and then the backs. Under the cuticle of her left thumb, a speck of blood that she had failed to wash away made tears build up again.

_She bolted forward as the dark car raced away. "Daddy!" Arya shrieked as his body practically folded on itself, collapsing beside her unconscious sister. "Dad," Arya begged as she fell to the pavement between her father and sister, blood already pooling on the sidewalk beneath his head. His lips opened and closed repeatedly while his blue eyes seemed to search the sky for something. His youngest daughter instinctively knew that there was nothing she could do, but hoped that he could hear her voice before he died. She dropped her mouth to his ear, stroked his hair and whispered over and over, "Daddy, I love you. Daddy, I love you," until his body ceased its lurching and a final breath gurgled out. Reaching out her free hand to hold Sansa's limp hand, Arya hugged her father's head to her chest and despondently wailed._

At the station, the door opened behind Arya and pulled her wandering mind back to the present as another detective indicated that the one across the table from the girl was needed outside. Arya pulled her legs onto the chair, squeezed them to her chest and rested her chin atop her knees. She was tired and wanted to go home. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She wanted…her dad.

When the door pushed open behind her again, Arya didn't even bother to look; she didn't want to talk the detective and go over details again. "Arya." Jon pressed his hand to the back of her head as he spoke her name. The younger Stark jumped up so quickly that she knocked the chair over in her haste to embrace her brother. "It's okay. It's okay, I'm here now," Jon muttered into her neck, his shoulders beginning to shake as they both wept, clinging to one another as if it would save them from drowning in grief. The smell of oil from his job as a mechanic comforted the heartbroken girl. Jon guided his sister out of the station and to his old, tattered convertible. Arya slid all the way across the seat to rest her head on his shoulder as he drove her home; Jon had moved out of the house on his eighteenth birthday much to Arya's dismay and his stepmom's relief.

As the siblings rounded the last corner to the affluent house on the outskirts of Kings Landing, Arya felt sick to her stomach at the sight of numerous cars crowding the driveway. "I don't want to see anyone," she desperately croaked, her throat sore from crying. Jon killed the headlights and pulled his derelict car to the rear of the sprawling house. He went so far as to turn off the engine and coast the closer they came to the back door.

"Come on," he urged once they had stopped. Scooping up the lithe girl as if she weighed nothing, Jon whispered, "Pretend you're asleep in case anyone sees us. I'll take you straight to your room." Grateful, Arya pulled her arms tight to her chest and closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of grease, oil and sweat. "There's my girl," Jon chuckled before striding towards the house.

The back door banged open and Arya heard her oldest brother, Robb, start to ask a question before Jon shushed him into silence. The mock sleeper felt Jon pause his footsteps just before Robb's hand stroked her cheek. Arya couldn't help but peel her gray eyes open to look at her brothers as they protectively crowded her. With a kiss to her forehead, Robb told his younger half-brother to take her upstairs and Jon willingly complied.

Once safely inside her room, Jon closed the door and told Arya to take a shower. She mechanically went into the bathroom she shared with Sansa and took the hottest shower her skin would allow; the scorching water urged another round of crying that left her spent. The weary teen dried off and dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants that Jon had apparently dug out of her dresser and deposited on the counter while she showered. Returning to her room, she could hear people talking loudly from somewhere downstairs. Jon wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided his sister's steps to her bed, urging her to lie down before drawing up the comforter to her chin. His gray eyes searched hers; his sister that resembled him the most and loved him more deeply than their other siblings had witnessed their father's murder.

"Please don't go," she pled, reaching out and clamping onto his hand. With a silent nod, Jon climbed atop the comforter next to her, boots still on, and pushed his arm under her head. He held her tightly through the bedding as her body shook with sobs again. "I told him that I loved him, Jon. I told him over and over so that it was the last thing he heard. I love you Daddy. I love you Daddy," she hiccupped through her crying.

Voice thick with pain, Jon whispered, "He knew, Arya. You did good. Go to sleep, now, kid."

"Don't leave me, Jon."

"I won't. Go to sleep."

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><p><strong><em>Thanks for stopping by for the first chapter. A very special thanks to Winterlyn Dow, editor and encourager extraordinare! (If you haven't checked out her story "The Assassin's Apprentice," please set aside a big block of time and do so! You won't regret it!) Thought I'd let ya'll in on the songs that keep it going for each chapter: <em>**

**The Civil Wars – The Violet Hour**

**U2 – The Miracle (Of Joey Ramone)**

**Florence and the Machine - Heavy In Your Arms**


	2. Chapter 2

Arya woke with an involuntary jerk of her body. Lying on her side and curled up to her slumbering brother, her eyes cracked open and she saw that the bathroom door was closed; she had left it open. Jon's heavy arm was still draped on top of the bedding and over her body, effectively pinning his sister to her spot on the bed. Slowly sliding her eyes closed again as a headache made its presence known, the dark-haired girl heard the water turn on in the shower.

"Sansa," Arya whispered, pushing herself out from under Jon's arm and tip-toeing to the bathroom. With a hushed knock, Arya opened the door and quietly called out for her sister. From the reflection of the mirror, Arya could see the red head wrapped in a towel, hand extended to test the water temperature. Again, the younger girl called to her sister in a low voice filled with apprehension and anxiety; Arya knew Sansa would be injured but it did not prepare the shocked teenager from gasping as her older sister turned at the sound of her name.

Purple and maroon bruising blossomed from a line of neat stitches on Sansa's cheek and upper lip, fanning towards her chin. Tears filled their eyes, blue and gray, respectively. Clutching the towel tightly to her body, Sansa's chin began to tremble before her tears spilled down her cheeks, one perfect and one marred. Arya had to swallow hard before speaking, "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," Sansa whispered, still rooted to her spot near the shower. Steam started to curl around the top of the shower door, making the air feel heavy.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't come with you to the hospital. I…I…I'm sorry, I…" The grievous words finally stuck in her throat and Arya pulled up her hands to cover her face as a sob escaped. Long thin arms wrapped around the shorter Stark and the sisters wept bitterly, bound by the dismal knowledge that they had been with their father in the last moments of his life.

Sansa sniffed and pulled back to look at her sister. "You weren't hurt at all." Neither an accusation nor a question, the statement cut Arya deeply. Arya's quick anger sparked; it hadn't been her fault that her shoelaces became untied! The younger sister's defensive answer was interrupted by their mother coming into the bathroom to check on Sansa. Shepherding the physically unscathed daughter to her own bedroom, Catelyn encouraged Sansa to shower and then lay down.

Arya froze as her mother pulled open the door to her bedroom, knowing the backlash that would occur from the sight of Jon lying in her bed. Much to her relief, Jon had silently climbed from the bed and onto the floor, pulling the comforter over his body, as if he had been asleep on the carpet the entire night. A sideways glance at her mother revealed Catelyn's pursed lips at her stepson but her eyes softened when they turned to Arya. Stroking her daughter's dark hair, so much like the sleeping man's dark curls, Arya knew that Catelyn would forgive Jon's intrusion for her daughter's and their father's sake.

Catelyn cleared her throat loudly, prompting the bedroom intruder to open his eyes. Trying to disguise her smirk at his ingenious ploy, Arya left her mother's side and sat down beside her brother as he pulled himself to a seated position next to the bed. As Jon cast a wayward look to Catelyn, Arya pushed herself into his torso, forcing Jon to fold his arms around her to keep from toppling backwards.

"Hey, hey," he reassured the invasive girl.

"Thank you for bringing me home last night, Jon." Arya wanted to say more, but her voice hitched and she stopped. Her vigilant brother squeezed her tighter, his hug communicating his love for the girl without any words that might exasperate his already emotional stepmother.

"I should get going," Jon insisted, unwrapping himself from their embrace and hoisting his body up before pulling up Arya to stand in front of him. "Call me later?" His gray eyes flicked back and forth between the same gray eyes before him.

"Yup," Arya whispered, heartbroken that he was leaving but fully understanding the fine line he walked to keep the peace with Catelyn. Although his sister believed that he had as much right to be in the house as all of the Starks did, Jon would never intentionally hurt the woman who had raised him among her own children from a sense of duty to her husband. Jon's honor was every bit as deep as his stepmother's.

When Jon had left her bedroom and shut the door behind him, Arya kept her gaze fixed on the door until Catelyn gathered her dark-haired daughter into her arms. Her mother squeezed Arya so tightly that Arya could feel her mother's body start to shake as she cried. Suddenly, Arya wished her father was here to help her mother; Ned always was able to soothe Catelyn while Arya was usually left bewildered or livid by her mother's reactions.

_"__Someday," Ned had casually mentioned a few months before, "You will understand your mother." He had brought her towels to dry the car that her mother had just grounded her to wash; Arya's sassy responses usually led to her being disciplined more often than any of the other Stark children. _

_Arya snorted but refused to comment on her father's absurd remark while turning off the water. She and Catelyn had just finished a preposterous argument over the expectation that Arya would assist her sister with raffle at an upcoming charity event. It wasn't that Arya wasn't opposed to helping at the event, but the headstrong girl made it abundantly clear that she preferred to be working with her brothers setting up or cleaning, not at the booth selling tickets while wearing a dress next to her poised and perfect sister. _

_"__She is just trying to help you navigate the waters of being a young woman, Arya," her father emphasized. The young girl looked up and saw the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation for her to make peace with her mother._

_"__So, you're going to force me to be with Sansa too? I just would rather do something less…I don't know, girly? Seriously, Dad, a dress?" _

Nearly identical to Sansa's earlier embrace, Catelyn sniffed her running nose into submission and pulled back to examine at the girl in her arms. "Arya, I am so grateful you were not hurt."

As soon as the words left her mother's lips, Arya saw the flash of the gun in her mind's eye and her father's body crumple to the sidewalk. "I love you, Daddy," her memory repeated over and over until she realized that her mother was shaking her by the shoulders.

"Arya!" Catelyn had dropped to eye level with her daughter, blue eyes wide in panic. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Finding no words, Arya simply shook her head from side to side. Her chest heaved in quick breaths and the young girl sat down on her bed as her head spun. Catelyn picked up Arya's feet and swung them onto the bed before pushing her daughter's head back onto her pillow. Arya felt a thousand miles away from her body, feeling everything that was happening in the room yet unable to do anything about it. Was her mom yelling? Why was Robb in her bedroom and where was Jon? Arya felt so terribly dizzy.

_"__Dresses aren't awful, little wolf." Arya smiled at her nickname, knowing that she was already on the winning side of the argument. Her father dried the top of the car that she couldn't reach; he was the one that had shown her the "correct way" to care for a car so that when she had her own, she would cherish it. However, it had backfired and Arya was "correctly" cleaning her mother's car. "You shouldn't have stabbed the table with your knife, either." _

_Her most precious possession, a pocket knife that Jon had given her for her fifteenth birthday, was now precariously displayed by her father. Ned turned it over in his hand. "If you do anything of the sort again, not only will you lose it, but you will immensely regret your actions. Just because you are angry, doesn't mean that you have the right to be cruel, Arya." Shamed by her earlier comments to her mother, Arya looked up, afraid of the disappointment in her father's eyes. "Are we clear?"_

_"__Yes, Dad," she whispered. "But…"she started and then stopped, afraid to breech her offensive behavior again. "Never mind." With a huff of air, Arya pushed the soft towel across the hood of her mother's car. She could feel her father's eyes boring down on her, so she stopped and met his gaze. "I would rather be able to help with set-up or clean-up because it makes me happy. I hate dresses and I'd make an awful ticket seller in an even more awful dress," the girl complained, making her father burst into laughter._

_And a week later, she gladly helped Robb and Jon lug chairs and tables, empty trashcans and sweep the facility in her jeans and t-shirt._

Arya woke gasping for breath, completely tangled in her bedding. As her thudding heart started to slow, Arya saw that there was still light filtering in from the closed window blinds. With a groan, she pushed her fists gently into her eyebrows to try and diminish the nauseating headache. Although tempted to stay in bed, her body told her that she needed to use the bathroom and then find food, in that specific order.

When the first task was completed, Arya tugged on her favorite hooded sweatshirt, leaving the hood on to cover her tangled hair. First pressing her ear to the door to make sure there wasn't some congregation of family friends or strangers talking nearby, Arya tugged the door open and jumped back as Bran's body fell backwards from his previously seated position against the door.

Her younger brother laid flat on his back, his upper half in her room while his legs remained in the hallway. "Hey," Bran said softly, staring up at his sister.

"Hey." He had pulled himself up to her second story bedroom using the brute upper body strength he possessed from being a paraplegic after a fall from a tree fort as a child. She had learned years ago that he didn't want or need her empathy, but that he yearned for her affection, which she freely gave to her fourteen year-old brother. Bran's positive outlook on life astonished Arya; often, it shamed her for being pessimistic about her own temporary circumstances.

"Hungry?" Arya knew what he was doing and loved him more fiercely for it. He wasn't dismissing her pain or overlooking it. Bran was treating her exactly the way she treated him, respectfully distancing the problem until she was ready to deal with it.

"Famished. Need a lift?" When Bran had finally worked up the courage to pull himself up the stairs years before, Arya would offer him "a lift," a ride down the carpeted stairs on a large piece of cardboard she kept tucked under her bed just for him. Sometimes, when he was exhausted, she would just pull him around the house on his cardboard sleigh, pretending to be the horse to his buggy.

Bran pushed himself back up and propped his upper body on the doorframe, trying to keep his tears in check. "My ride is at the bottom of the stairs," he tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a sob. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down when Arya deposited herself next to him in the doorway of her bedroom. "I wish I could help you," the young boy offered.

Arya looked up at her brother's pained, blue eyes. "How'd I get so lucky to have a brother like you?" She wiped the tears that had leaked down his cheeks. "You already helped by keeping people out of my room. I just don't want to see anyone. I want to be in a cave…a dark cave because I know that everyone will look at me with sad eyes and tell me that it will all be alright. It'll never be alright, Bran." He let her pause without interruption. "That's why a cave is the answer," Arya concluded with a cheerless smile.

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><p><strong>Peace of Mind - The Jezebels<strong>

**Stripped - Shiny Toy Guns**


	3. Chapter 3

**First off, a quick note about chapter two; Bran is a paraplegic, not quad. I apologize for any confusion that there may have been.  
><strong>

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><p>It would never go back to being okay, no matter what people kept repeating to Arya; her mother, Robb, a hovering neighbor, Cersei…they were all wrong. Two days later, when her mother forced her to go back to school, Arya cut classes in the afternoon and found herself rooted to the spot where she had leaned down to tie her shoelaces, unable to progress or retreat, gray eyes staring at the dark stain on the pavement further down the sidewalk. Though she went no closer to the mark where her father's head had lain, Arya felt the hollowness in her chest grow. Several bunches of wilted flowers had been left nearby.<p>

By the time the truant returned to the school parking lot, Sansa was frantically talking into her cell phone outside of her car until she saw the wayward sister. "No, mom," Sansa stridently declared, "She's here now and we'll be home in a bit." The ginger arched her eyebrow, a sign Arya knew was in anger, before getting into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut. Silently, out of both annoyance and resentment that Sansa had called their mother, Arya dropped herself and backpack into the passenger seat. Needless to say, their ride home was completely wordless.

Catelyn Stark was standing at the back door when Sansa shoved the car into park and stalked into the house. The lone daughter glanced up at her mom, making eye contact before turning her eyes to the black sedan that was now conspicuously parked in the driveway. Arya opened the door of Sansa's car and felt like she was floating, almost pulled, towards her father's car. Her mom was saying something, but it sounded garbled to Arya's ears. The girl wanted to scream at her mother to shut up and call her a vulgar name, but she heard her father's voice in her head.

_"__Don't cuss, Arya," Ned had chastised his youngest daughter when she slipped up in front of him after banging her shin against the shovel. His voice was earnest. "You sound like an uneducated brat. Swearing is unbecoming to a lady."_

_"__I'm not a lady," the rebellious teen practically spat, flinging the offending shovel away. "And it hurt!"_

_"__That doesn't mean that you need to lower yourself to speaking like an ignorant gutter rat." He reached down and handed the shovel back to the girl with a smile. "Profanity is the equivalent to verbal trash – useless trash. It is unnecessary. Besides, swearing isn't attractive."_

_Arya scoffed, "I'm not attractive, so it shouldn't matter. When I was a baby, I was cursed by an evil fairy and Sansa got all of the looks and manners. Sorry, Pops." She started carving the sides of the hole for the new tree they were planting as Ned laughed at her response._

_"__Well, don't swear. If you have to do it, just learn one French word," he said, winking as she looked up at him quizzically. "At least it'll sound prettier."_

Something caught Arya's eye and she turned her head to see Bran at the passenger door of their dad's car. He pulled open the door and wheeled forward before setting the brakes on the wheels of his chair. After a graceful act of balancing, pushing and pulling, the mop-haired boy was seated next to his sister in the pristine, older BMW. He mentioned that is still smelled like Ned and all Arya could do was nod in agreement and drag her finger across the steering wheel. She desperately wanted her father to appear at the back door, like always, and scold her for sitting in his car.

The two siblings talked about school, dinner and Jon. Their discussions swayed between menial topics and the unimportant ones, never daring to tip toe towards the man whose car they occupied. Outside, the sun set behind the mountains to the west and the porch light flicked on just before Robb poked his head outside and nodded for the duo to come inside.

Arya tipped her head back against the leather seat and let out a sigh. "I gotta go buy something to wear for the service," she groaned as her eyes slid closed, rubbing her fingers to her temples. "I'll see if Jon can take me in the morning," the harried girl said, pulling out her cell phone and rapidly typing a text message before exiting the car and loping alongside her brother's wheelchair towards the house. As they approached the back door, Arya found her mood souring; she really didn't want to hear Sansa's annoying comments for being late or her mother's firm, yet reprimanding voice telling Arya that she needed to be responsible and think of others.

The smell of dinner made the girl's stomach growl as soon as the two siblings entered the house. Bran led the way to the dining room where the rest of the Starks were gathered, save one stepbrother. Everyone assembled to their normal seating arrangement, the head of the table, with its vacant place setting, painfully obvious. The dark-haired daughter sank into her chair, grateful that Cersei and Joffrey had not been invited, like the previous night. There was something unnerving about the way Joffrey had quietly chided Sansa, causally mentioning that he would be training to take over the business now that Ned had died. His tone of indifference, even arrogance, had caused Arya to suddenly be stricken with an upset stomach before the meal had even been served.

Robb recited the prayer that his father customarily offered before the meal. Woodenly, Arya took a helping from each dish and passed it to her left towards Sansa and then their mother. Bran sat opposite of their father's unoccupied seat, to Arya's right with Rickon to his right. Years before, Jon had sat between Rickon and Robb, but now their chairs were just evenly spaced on their side of the table. Once, Arya had conspired with Bran and their siblings to switch places before their parents arrived for dinner; although Ned's dark gray eyes sparkled with delight, one cool look from their mother's blue eyes had the children scrambling for their correct places. That's just the way it was.

Arya remained silent throughout the entire dinner, hoping that no one would question her in any way or require her to interact. Robb asked for a dish that had landed directly in front of his mute sister and squeezed her fingers as she passed the food to him. She knew he was trying to help but she couldn't help but wish that he was Jon; at least Jon wouldn't look at her so sadly, like she was broken, even if she was.

Startled by the buzzing from her pocket, Arya broke a cardinal table rule and stealthily pulled out her cell phone to glance at the incoming message. Jon would pick her up at 10. She slid the offending device back into her pocket with a quick glance to her mother. Catelyn had just informed her brood that the police detectives had made an 8 a.m. appointment the next morning to interview the girls again in their mother's presence.

Reminded of her dishwashing chores, Arya gathered the dishes and retreated to the kitchen. The girl chose a specific playlist on her phone. Although she would have rather pushed up the volume as loudly as she could to show her family exactly how she was feeling at the moment, Arya settled for raising the volume in her earbuds. "God money, I'll do anything for you…" The song lyrics beckoned to the rancor that had darkened her mind after learning that she would have to recount the events of her father's death to the detectives again. What more could she tell them? How many more times would they make her experience the horrors of that day? "Black as your soul, I'd rather die than give you control…" She had downloaded one of her dad's favorite albums sometime back and it seemed to be the only thing that Arya wanted to hear were the angry lyrics with the volume up until it drown out anyone, anything and any thoughts.

Arya slept little that night, her slumber often interrupted by vivid nightmares. She settled for alternating between flipping through old photos on her phone and playing mindless puzzle games after waking in a panicked sweat 4 a.m. The exhausted teen dropped her phone when a text vibrated her phone just after 6 a.m. and surprised her.

**You up?** Arya smiled at the brightly lit screen. Of course Jon was up, the shop he worked at opened in a couple of hours. He had probably just finished running or working out.

**Yup. Can't sleep. Detectives will be here at 8**.

**Sorry. I'd be there if I could.** The younger sister could visualize the pained look on her brother's face. Had Jon been at the house later that morning, Arya imagined he'd either impatiently pace the hallway or grasp her hand tightly until she had to retrieve it to flex the blood flow back into her fingers.

**It'll be fun. Good times. I'll see you at 10.**

Arya heard her mother move quietly down the hallway and knock on Sansa's door before lightly rapping on her own. The tired daughter moved her phone underneath her pillow and closed her eyes knowing that Catelyn would open the door. There was no use in burdening her mother with the fact that she had been up most of the night.

"Arya," Catelyn called from the doorway before advancing into the bedroom and perching on the edge of the bed. The shower turned on in the bathroom.

"Hey Mom," the pretender answered, eyelids cracked open.

Catelyn leaned forward and gently pushed the stray curls from Arya's face before stroking her daughter's cheek. "I'll go down and get some breakfast going. Pancakes alright?" Arya knew her mother deliberately picked her favorite breakfast meal.

"Yes, please."

Catelyn leaned forward and pressed her lips to her youngest daughter's forehead. "I love you, Arya," she whispered, her voice quivering. The beautiful woman stood and turned to exit.

"Mom," Arya called, pushing herself up to her elbows. "I…I need to go to the mall to buy something to wear for the service."

Catelyn looked intrigued but kept any questions behind her polite smile. "Okay. I can take you after the interview."

Taking a quick breath, Arya blurted out, "I already have a ride." The expression on her mother's face faltered momentarily; had Arya not known her mother's subtleties, she would have missed it altogether. Catelyn gave a curt nod of her head and pulled the bedroom door closed.

After brushing through her hair, Arya quickly dressed and hopped down the staircase towards the smell of pancakes. Efficiently working her way through the small stack that her mother placed in front of her on the kitchen counter, Arya asked if she could play video games with Bran, who had already finished his breakfast and had been bumping his wheelchair into the back of her stool every time she took a bite of her pancakes.

The two battled in a shooting game before Rickon came in and asked to play Mario Cart. Robb joined the trio and soon they were all laughing and gloating at each other, caught up in the video game. Rickon beamed with pride every time he won a race, not seeing the look of understanding that passed between his older siblings during said race.

Their morning excitement was harshly interrupted by the doorbell that caused the four siblings to spontaneously freeze, carts forgotten and careening off of the racetrack. Robb was the first to look at Arya, who dropped her eyes to her controller, stroking the miniature joystick back and forth. The eldest brother stood and turned off the television while Bran retrieved the controllers and stowed them away in a drawer. Rickon scurried off with Robb and Bran motioned for Arya to follow him to the formal sunroom, where they knew their mother had escorted the detectives for their appointment.

Desperately, Arya grabbed for the back of Bran's chair at the sound of low murmuring from behind the closed door to the sunroom. Catelyn's voice grew stronger, her terse tone unmistakable. "I have to be strong! I have two daughters that are falling apart after watching their father's murder and three sons that need me too!"

The headstrong girl loved her mother no matter how many times they quarreled, and even more so after she inadvertently eavesdropped on Catelyn's passionate declaration. In the hallway outside of the sunroom, Arya delighted in her mother's protective nature, the mother wolf shielding her pack, no matter if the outsiders were, in fact, the police.

* * *

><p><strong>La Femme Nikita Soundtrack (the TV show)<strong>

**Head Like A Hole – Nine Inch Nails**


	4. Chapter 4

When the girl had asked Jon for a ride to the mall, he didn't question her motives, however unlikely the request. She thanked her obliging brother at the curb and assured him that Robb would pick her up later. Aimlessly, Arya wandered while looking at the racks of clothes, seeking one thing only and finally finding it over an hour later. In the dressing room mirror, she twisted one way and then the other, making sure that it was exactly what she wanted before texting her oldest brother that she was ready.

While she waited on the bench just inside of a main entrance door, the observant teenager watched the people hustle to and fro, laughing, talking, texting or seemingly hell bent on getting from one place to another. Arya wondered how many, in any, of them felt as shattered as she did, trying to make sense of her previously mundane life.

Robb drove his youngest sister home. Adhering to the more serious side of life in general, her eldest brother's silence was unnerving as she stared out of the passenger side window. Turning to face the driver, Arya was grieved to see tears pushing out of the corners of Robb's eyes as he watched the road, both hands clutching the steering wheel. He must have felt her gaze because he turned his blue eyes to his passenger. Watching her family fight through their personal waves of loss made Arya feel as helpless as a turtle on its back in the middle of a four lane highway.

The weekend passed uneventfully, Arya observing her family move like ghosts around her and each other in preparation for the service on Monday. Catelyn hovered from room to room, endlessly moving cushions or picking up stray pieces of lint; her young, dark daughter wishing that she would just sit and be still so that the lost girl could snuggle to her mother's side and find quiet comfort. But, the girl realized that her mother's way of coping was far different than her own.

Dawn broke the day of the service and Arya had been awake for over an hour, perched on the edge of her bed to watch the sunrise change the sky to a palette of colors. She finally understood the words to "Paint It Black" at that moment; no one should be able to enjoy the beauty of the sky when her father was going to be buried that day.

Breakfast was a somber affair. Catelyn had cooked enough to feed the children twice over, although every one of them, with the exception of Rickon, mostly pushed the food on their plates back and forth. Thanking her mother for the meal, Arya headed upstairs to shower and be back down at the appointed time.

Hair wrapped in a towel, Arya pulled her recent purchase from her closet, still debating its merit for the occasion. She knew her mom would appreciate it and if her dad was alive, he would have smiled at her effort. Glancing over her shoulder to a framed picture she had pilfered years ago, Ned laughed at the camera as a toddler with dark ponytails and gray eyes held onto his hair mischievously. The now grown daughter pulled on the newly purchased black skirt that nearly swept the floor, hiding her ever-present Converse. Arya paired it with a plum colored blouse that Ned had mentioned was pretty on his anti-fashion daughter; she wanted to look nice for her father's sake.

When the tardy girl joined the rest of the family downstairs, Sansa had opened her mouth to say something until Catelyn firmly grabbed her older daughter by the arm and made it absolutely clear with a resolute stare that her oldest daughter was to remain as silent as the rest of her children. Bran reached out his hand and took Arya's smaller one, guiding it to the handles on the back of his wheelchair. Robb opened the front door and ushered the family out to the family van with a lift for Bran's chair.

Arya felt light-headed at the sight of the throng of cars when they pulled into the parking lot of their church. Jon waved Robb over to a reserved parking spot just as their youngest sister swallowed hard against the wave of nausea rising in her throat. She wanted to fling the van door open and run in the opposite direction, away from the people, away from the service, away from the coffin that held her father.

The church was packed. Arya resisted the urge to hide in the bathroom. Instead, she stepped out of the birth order seating arrangement her mother had made and rearranged herself to the end of the line to sit beside Jon. She held onto her brother's arm with both of her own, staring at the floor as songs were sung and people spoke. At one point, someone dropped a hymnal and it hit the floor with a resounding slap. Jon's arm slid around Arya's shoulders holding her up as her breathing sped up. He held her to the pew with his strong grip, a kiss to her forehead to bring her back down. As her breathing slowed, Jon's hand rubbed up and down her arm and Arya rested her head onto his shoulder.

Ned's coffin was gun metal gray. Arya couldn't help but stare at the chrome handles on the side, keeping her eyes away from the flower arrangements. The shade of the casket reminded her of the hair at her father's temples; the handles evoked weekends when she helped him buff the polished chrome on the custom motorcycle he had built as a teenager.

_"Live life with passion, or not at all," her father sincerely offered as he applied the polish in a circular motion. The bewildered daughter stared at him through a gap in the frame, waiting for the pensive man to continue. Heated, low words had been exchanged by her parents before Ned stormed out to the garage, his dark-haired daughter not far from his heels; Catelyn thought the motorcycle was dangerous and did not approve of her husband teaching their youngest daughter how to drive it. "I do recall that you quite enjoyed it," Ned had fired back at his concerned wife before leaving the house._

_A sigh escaped the frustrated man's lips. "Never ride to be reckless, ride to be free."_

At the graveside family service, Arya continued to cling to Jon's arm, Bran never far from her. Her pent up sorrow, as the chrome handles disappeared into the ground, escaped as a tormented sob when Catelyn tossed the first handful of dirt into Ned's final resting spot in the family plot. Turning on her heel, Arya grabbed up the long skirt and ran, not caring where she was going.

She tripped on a tree root and fell to the grass. When Jon gathered her into his arms, she screamed at him and flailed her arms into his chest. "Oh Arya," he whispered into her hair, his own cry catching any further words.

"I don't want to feel this. It hurts too much." Arya felt like she'd been punched in the middle of her chest and strangled while buried under a heap of bricks. The pair remained in their heartache driven embrace until Jon gave his sister a squeeze.

"Your mom is here."

The wretched girl pried her face from her brother's suit jacket to see her mother's grief stricken face. Moving from Jon's embrace to Catelyn's, Arya relaxed when her mother stroked her hair. Soon, the girl was aware of the entire family gathering in from all sides, Bran sneaking his hand to hers. Her beautiful mother told each of her children how much she loved them before herding them back towards the van to leave for the wake at their home.

Arya had only attended Robert Baratheon's wake and it felt surreal to her to be standing in her own living room for her father's. As more people patted her back or arm or told her that she was brave, the girl felt like she was drifting further and further from her own body. Her head politely and obediently bobbed up and down when she saw someone talking to her, even though she heard little of what they were saying. At some point, the detached daughter found the comfort of her own bed and curled up on top of the comforter, eyes fluttering closed in exhaustion.

Her eyes snapped open from a scuffling sound in the hallway and Arya nearly tripped over her skirt in her haste to yank open her bedroom door. Joffrey gripped Sansa tightly by both of her biceps, his knuckles white. The oldest Stark daughter's blue eyes were wide with fear.

"Let her go." Arya pronounced every word clearly so that Joffrey could not mistake their meaning. A hateful anger boiled in the smaller, protective sister's heart.

"Or you'll do what?" he questioned, turning to face the hallway intruder. As soon as his perfect cheek presented itself, Arya slapped it as hard as she possibly could.

The golden-haired boy's hand shot to his face after a distinctively girlish scream escaped his lips. A small blot of blood glistened on his fingers when he examined them after touching the spot Arya had struck. The girl found herself utterly pleased and terrified at the same time; she had never hit anyone like that before. Sansa was already apologizing to the foul-mouthed boy when he turned to flee. "Why'd you hit him?" she accused.

"You're serious?" Arya's response was lost to the empty hallway as her older sister followed her on-again boyfriend down the stairs.

From the first floor, the frustrated girl heard Joffrey's enormous bodyguard laugh, "You got hit by a girl and go crying to your mommy?" Arya had just peeked over the railing to see the muscular man grinning at the retreating teenage boy, Sansa remaining next to the man she had referred to as Sandor. Burns had savaged one side of his face and contorted his expression into a sneer when he returned his gaze to Sansa. "Run along, now, little bird. Go sing your apologies to someone else because he doesn't deserve them for what he puts you through." Sansa's mouth opened to reply but then suddenly closed before she retreated in the opposite direction as Joffrey. Sandor happened to look up and catch Arya witnessing the entire scene. "Little wolf has claws, eh?" he growled before following his employer like a haggard dog.

When the house had surrendered the last of its guests, darkness had triggered the solar landscape lighting to illuminate the walkways, revealing Arya's hiding spot near the garage. She had waved off Bran's attempts to cheer her and Robb's offer of food, preferring the solitude of the fading sunlight. Jon had left after congratulating his assaultive sister for sticking up for Sansa, even when Sansa wouldn't stand up for herself. Arya brushed off her skirt and went to see if her sister would talk with her, even if it meant apologizing for something she had entirely no regret for.

The shower was running when Arya timidly knocked on her older sister's door and opened it. Sansa's cell phone chimed from her pink bed five times in a row. Creeping like a thief, Arya got close enough to see the sender's name: Joff. More messages blinked through on the little screen and her previously disposed anger surfaced again at the texts.

** Poor Sansa, no daddy to tuck you in.**

**I'll tuck you in after you tucker me out.**

**Homeschooling while I take over the family business. Life is good. **

**To me**

**Not you**

**Cause your dad is deeeeeeaaaaadddddd**

**I have a headache with shooting pains.**

**Funny, it just took one bullet. I thought there would be more of a fight.**

Shaking, Arya had the sense to take her own phone out and take a picture of the last message before the screen went dark. The shower shut off and Arya could hear Sansa drying off and working her way towards her own bedroom. Scrambling out of the room and silently closing the door behind her, the young trespasser paused with her ear to the door. "I hate you!" Sansa quietly declared before Arya heard her sister crying.

Once safely in her own room, the picture she took of Sansa's screen ignited a fury that Arya was unfamiliar yet comfortable with. Her former loathing of the Baratheon boy easily succumbed to an animosity that knew no bounds as Arya contemplated the meaning of his words. Had he managed to have their father killed? Was he capable of it? Why would he do it?

Arya thought back to the horrific day, as she had done so many times. The black car that stopped was a Ford or something similar; nothing expensive along the tastes that Joffrey preferred. Although tall, the masked gunman had been shorter than her father and was then definitely not Sandor nor his much shorter employer. She decided that she needed more information and the only way to get it was from Joffrey himself.

Patience did not come effortlessly to Arya, but she feigned sleep when her mother checked on her later in order to carry out her plan. Waiting an extra thirty minutes for good measure, the girl slipped noiselessly into her sister's bedroom again and stole the cell phone from next to the occupied pillow. Swift as a deer and quiet as a shadow, Arya hid in her own closet before firing off a response to Joffrey. **Why did you do it?**

It took several minutes, but his response lit up the screen. **Because I could.**

Her chest heaved with shallow breaths. How would Sansa reply? **But why? He was my dad!**

**I wanted to. Just to prove that I could. Funny, there is no actual proof. **

Arya's hands shook so hard that she placed the phone on the carpet. Gathering a discarded sweater from the floor of the closet, she screamed into it. Her little heart hardened with the next text he sent. **There's nothing you can do. These texts are me kidding. Haha!** Swiping her finger across the screen to erase the entire conversation, Arya changed the settings on Sansa's phone to block his number; the uninformed sister wouldn't figure it out for at least a week.

Quick as a snake and calm as still water, the young girl replaced the stolen phone next to her sleeping sister's head. When she returned to her own room again, Arya was positively murderous. Though she had no idea how to do it, Joffrey would die.

* * *

><p><strong>Pictures of You – The Cure<strong>

**Winter Kills – Yaz**

**C'est la Mort – The Civil Wars**


	5. Chapter 5

The amateur sleuth was careful to erase her web browser's history; she didn't need anyone to question why she repeatedly searched "assassination" or "unsolved murders." Forensic television programs became the focus of her spare attention. Catelyn's peaked notice was easily soothed with the explanation that Arya's interest in the career field would help other families find justice and peace. The girl saw a look of grieved pride in her mother's eyes when the woman offered to get her daughter in touch with an old school friend that worked in law enforcement.

Rob consented to his sister's incessant petitions to teach her how to shoot his handgun when their mother was away from the house or they "went to get ice cream." Safety always first, the cautious brother relentlessly drilled the girl about loading and unloading, finger position and the trigger safety. Although his gun was large and bulky in her small hands, Robb became very impressed with the girl's gun handling and her precise target shooting skills.

Tedious to a fault, Arya researched for weeks and then months for a strategy - an untraceable method. She maintained her average school grades while trying to work out a way to obtain a handgun or undetectable poisons or an assassin for hire; really, any one would do. Every idea ended up in a dead end and the frustrated girl flung her cell phone into the grass during her lunch period late in the school year. The burly teenage boy seated next to her on the lawn chuckled before retrieving the seemingly offensive device.

"That bad, huh?" He knew better than to try and look at the screen; he had received several bruises in the past to prove that point.

"You have no idea." Arya rolled her head, stretching her neck. Gendry offered the phone back to its owner. An errant thought crossed her mind when she took it from his massive hand; she would miss him at school next year. He and Sansa would graduate in a month and be off to the big wide world while she was stuck with another year of school. "Did you figure out where you're going in the fall?"

Gendry twisted his body to the girl's side before he unceremoniously stretched out and deposited his noggin into her lap. Arya pulled her hands up just before his head hit her legs, caught off guard by his actions. "Nope. Probably would be a good idea since I turn eighteen in a couple of months and will get the boot from the house." Although they had been his legal guardians for the past year, Gendry's foster parents had given him no illusion that he was part of their family or welcome past his eighteenth birthday, when their financial kickbacks ceased. Arya truly felt sorry for the boy as she leaned backwards, hands on the turf behind her; she never worried about a roof over her head, past present or future.

Placing her hands on the grass kept them from plucking at the short curls on the attractive boy's forehead, which would in turn cause him to stare at her with those startling blue eyes. She didn't need that distraction in her life, no matter how easy or tempting; she needed Joffrey dead. "If you want, I can ask Jon if he's still looking for a roommate." Unbidden, one of her hands drifted forward and pulled his short, dark locks into a single section of hair, in the shape of a "V," in the middle of his brow.

The pair stared sideways at each other for a few seconds before Arya's hand dropped back to the lawn and she silently cursed her lack of self-control as much as the stupid desire to do it again. "Sure," he answered, refusing to look away and initiating their juvenile game of who would blink first. Naturally, the same as every single time before, he failed. The bell rang, causing the tall teenage boy to stand before offering his hand to pull up the much shorter girl. Arya flicked her eyes up to Gendry's when he continued to hold onto her hand after she was standing, finding some odd expression on his face that she couldn't place. She quickly pulled her hand free and turned on her Converse heels, and marched towards World History. The girl squashed the odd sensation in her belly, knowing he was watching her leave. Feeling slightly powerful at the moment, Arya stopped and methodically brushed off the back pockets of her jeans before looking up and crassly throwing the middle finger to her gawking friend. He bent at the waist into a mocking bow before leaving towards his own class.

Trying to dismiss the wayward reflections of the towering blue-eyed boy, his tight fitting t-shirt and the sensation of his surprisingly rough hands on her palms, Arya decided to cut the rest of her classes that afternoon to avoid interaction with said boy. She hurried to the nurse's office and drummed up an admirable performance for cramps, asking the nurse to call her mom and let Catelyn know that she could drive herself and would be home shortly.

Arya pushed the button to unlock her car. Catelyn had indulged her youngest daughter after Ned's death to woo the girl back to the family. Arya completed her driver's training and passed her license test just after her seventeenth birthday, a few weeks after her father's passing, and was presented with the keys to the BMW that she had continued to clean weekly. "I'm pretty sure he would want it driven instead of sitting in the garage," the teary-eyed woman whispered into her grateful daughter's ear. Arya carefully drove the prized car to Jon's shop to share her news and settle on the stool nearby as her brother ran engine diagnostics for a clean report to present back for Catelyn's peace of mind.

The faux-pained girl eased her car from its school parking space and turned towards home. At a stop sign, a random yet fantastic idea struck Arya in her lethal quest; she would ask Sandor to help. The giant man had taken to texting her sister (Arya had accidentally found out) after colorfully telling his homeschooled, vile employer that he quit. Sansa blushed like beautiful, pink rose at the mention of the man that was several years older and swore her younger sister to secrecy.

**This is Arya. Need to talk.**

It was only a matter of seconds before her phone buzzed on the console. **About what?**

The excited girl's mind churned. Yes, she had thought of contacting Sandor, but she hadn't thought out the plan thoroughly and was stuck contemplating her reply. **Killing J.** Simplicity seemed the best route.

**No promises. I'll put out the word.**

Arya swerved as she read the text and yipped in delight, tires catching the gravel shoulder of the rural road between her home and the school. She pushed hard on the brake pedal, remembering to keep the brakes from locking up, bringing the BMW to a stop on the shoulder. Looking down at her cell phone again, the hopeful daughter rested her forehead to the steering wheel as her heart hammered away; it really had been that easy!

Squealing tires caused Arya to focus on the road before her again. A small, gray car fish-tailed before violently wrenching towards the side of the road, no more than fifty yards ahead of her immobile BMW. Arya watched in horror as the car left the road, hit the gravel and barrel-rolled at least three times before landing on its top in the forested area next to the road.

Her legs were running and her hands dialing for emergency services before the smell of smoke hit her nose. She rattled off the area to the dispatcher before she heard the moan of someone inside the vehicle. Dropping to her knees in the bramble, she saw two people suspended from their seats. The cell phone suddenly beeped in her ear as it disconnected and Arya saw that she had no coverage. Shoving the useless device into her back pocket, she called out to the occupants of the wrecked car and was answered with a cough from the passenger seat.

"I've called for an ambulance," Arya said loudly, as she made her way to the side where the noise was coming from, blackberry vines tearing at her calves. The distinctive smell of gasoline was overwhelming as she stepped on broken glass below a bloodied hand that grasped the overturned vehicle's empty door window. "The ambulance is on the way," she repeated, contorting her body to look at the man who dangled in the car by the same seatbelt that more than likely saved his life.

"Please help me," he gasped, turning a pair of the most shocking bronze colored eyes Arya had ever seen, even when surrounded by rivulets of blood. "In my boot is a knife. Cut the seatbelt." At the sight of Arya's widening eyes, he softly added, "Please."

Whether prompted by his thickly accented plea or of her own accord, Arya found herself halfway inside of the car, reaching into the stranger's boot and retrieving the blade. "Careful," the man cautioned. The girl turned, now nearly seated on the roof of the upside down car and found herself mere inches from the suspended man. "That is sharp enough to remove your own finger, if you are not careful, lovely girl." One side of his lips pulled up into a lop-sided grin before he nodded towards the buckle. "Cut near the fastener. I am going to put my hand on your shoulder, here." His bloodied right hand firmly pushed into her left shoulder from above. "I am sorry that I will fall onto you, but I will try to push myself sideways so that I do not crush you. We must hurry, though, the gas is leaking and I fear that it will ignite."

After a cursory glance to the unmoving driver, Arya braced her muscles before she flipped the blade open and made short work of the restraining strap. Instead of being pummeled by the man's body, her shoulder took the brunt of the weight before he landed with a thud, his body nearly falling out of the broken windshield and into the same blackberry bushes that had torn her jeans.

With a groan, the man stood while Arya scrambled out of the car. "We need to move," he urged, taking the girl by the elbow and leading her back to the roadside. The stranger had angled his rescuer in front of him to help her up the slight incline to the road, when he stopped and coughed. A savage flame suddenly appeared between the duo and the car, forcing the man to push Arya onto the pavement while shielding her body. "Are you okay?" he asked, continuing to walk her towards her own BMW.

"Yeah, yeah," she responded, glimpsing over her shoulder at the fully involved fire. There were no sounds from the driver.

"Could you give me a ride to town?" the stranger asked quietly, as if someone were listening in on their conversation. The slight movement of his finger across her sensitive skin reminded the girl that he still gently held her elbow.

"I've called for an ambulance," Arya offered, instantly knowing that her lame excuse was already established to the injured man. There was something about him that both alarmed and appeased the girl, like holding a handgun and knowing the safety was on. What kind of man crawled away from a collision like that without asking about the driver?

Another small smile was presented while he raked his fingers through his military style haircut; the girl noticed the small patch of closely shorn white hair above his right ear. It was then that Arya realized he had never moved his left hand that limply hung at his side. "It would be faster if you drove me there," he requested, his strange accent quite prevalent.

Gray eyes quickly scanned the man at her side, nothing obvious other than his bloodied hands and forehead; everything else was obscured by his expensive black jacket and khaki pants. "Don't kill me," the brave girl jested to the man, who smiled and nodded before slowly lowering himself into the seat next to the driver, obviously in pain but refusing to display it.

Turning the car back towards the city limits, Arya saw the distant blue and red flashing LED lights of an approaching ambulance, followed by a fire engine. Her hands flexed on her father's steering wheel as the two vehicles passed her own. A cautious glance at her passenger revealed that he was assessing his limp hand, jaw muscle flexed. He turned his gaze to Arya, his abnormally hued eyes catching her own. She ignored the panic that fluttered in her mind. "I need to call my mom and tell her I'll be late."

Her passenger remained silent and stationary as the dishonest daughter wove a tale of stopping at the store for some chocolate and "other stuff." As soon as the car's speaker phone disconnected, Arya asked which hospital her passenger would like to be dropped off at. "Neither," he answered, never looking away from his driver's glances between the roadway and him.

"Okay," she responded, drawing out the first syllable.

"I have what I need at my room."

"And where is that?" The last thing she needed was to be in a dark alley at a seedy motel, although it was midafternoon. She was relieved and slightly confused when he named a prestigious hotel downtown, but drove there, nonetheless.

She parked as close to the main entrance as possible and hustled around the car, compelled to help the handsome stranger at least to the front door. Arya nudged her petite shoulder to his right side and the man's strong arm grasped her frame for support before she slid her left hand around his waist for balance. The pair leisurely strolled in, arms draped around each other, resembling lovers more than complete strangers. An elevator carried them to the fourth floor and they entered a room after the man swiped his key card. The exhausted girl helped the man to the bed and nearly collapsed with him when he fell sideways.

"You should see a doctor," Arya whispered when the man held his breath and clenched his right, bloodied fist, eyelids squeezed shut in apparent pain.

"I will call a friend," he breathed out, opening his eyes to stare at the girl who abruptly realized she was in the room with a guy who was talking about calling "a friend," when the person in the car with him had just been burnt to a crisp and he had nothing to say about it.

Her cell phone ring caused her to flinch. Even though it was a blocked number, Arya answered it and was greeted by the police dispatcher, questioning if she had left the scene.

"Yes. My phone lost reception, so I drove towards town and by the time my reception picked up, the ambulance had passed me," she replied in half-truths. Curtly, the woman obtained Arya's name and address before disconnecting. The pair of bronze eyes retained the girl's gray ones throughout the entire brief conversation.

"I am most grateful to you, Arya Stark." Hearing her name roll off of his foreign tongue sent a row of goosebumps down one leg. She had no idea who he was, but she felt completely exposed to the stranger reclined before her. "I owe you my life," he added calmly, with a solemn nod in her direction.

Arya mirrored his head nod, turned and shuffled towards the door. A last look over her shoulder at the battered man and she bravely asked, "What is your name?"

"Jaqen H'ghar." The girl slightly tilted up her chin, feeling somewhat triumphant that the mysterious man had imparted his peculiar name. Arya withdrew to the hallway, watching the stranger observe her until the door leisurely closed with a resounding click.

* * *

><p><strong>Panic Switch – Silversun Pickups<strong>

**Dark Into Light – AM & Shawn Lee**

**Hurricane – 30 Seconds to Mars**


	6. Chapter 6

Seated behind the steering wheel again, Arya's mind wildly churned. What had possessed her to crawl into an overturned car, probe a stranger's boot for a knife and then help the same captivating man to his hotel room? And then into his bed…after the car caught on fire…with someone inside. The perplexed girl blew out a long breath just before her cell phone rang. Fishing the phone from her back pocket, Arya refused to answer the unfamiliar number, allowing it go to voicemail instead. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled towards the exit of the hotel parking lot.

Within seconds, a text message popped up from the same unknown number. **It is wise to decline calls from anonymous numbers, lovely girl.** Her heart stuttered. She'd only ever been called that once, by a man suspended from a seatbelt above her head. **You have blood on your shoulder. It will distress your mother.**

Arya rubbed at the offending crimson mark high on her bicep until it faded while dialing her mother. Profusely apologizing and inventing a story about running into a friend she hadn't seen in ages at the store, the dishonest daughter sped towards home, along the same road that she had already traveled earlier. Arya slowed her car while passing the multiple fire engines and police vehicles that were blocking one-half of the roadway. When a police officer waved her by, the previous guest to the site craned her neck to see the wreckage, charred and unrecognizable.

Once in her mother's presence, the deceitful girl again asked for forgiveness for her tardy arrival and requested to shower. Catelyn relinquished, handing over some medicine to her daughter who couldn't seem to disappear to her bedroom quick enough. Throughout the entire brief conversation, Arya kept her eyes on her mother's blue ones, praying to whatever gods she could think of, that the inspective woman wouldn't see anything amiss.

Locked in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, the hesitant teenage looked at her phone again. With a shake of her confused head, Arya put the phone on the floor near the shower and covered it with her towel, just in case someone walked in, which hadn't happened in years but paranoia played in the fringes of her mind. The overly attentive girl scrubbed her skin pink for any more stray blood.

Still early in the afternoon, Arya tried to complete some of her homework but found herself constantly warring with the textbooks and looking at the phone screen. Ultimately relenting with the excuse that it would bring focus to her Biology homework (she told herself over and over), the flustered girl typed a response. Wavering between asking for an explanation for the abandoned driver and confessing that she still had his knife, she wrote and erased half a dozen messages before settling her mind on one: **Thank you.**

Biology homework had been completed and Algebra II started when Catelyn called up for dinner. Arya bounded downstairs and joined the family at the table for pizza. The newest driver in the family offered to take Bran to school the next morning and received an enthusiastic acceptance from her brother along with a silent dissent displayed in their mother's lips pressed into a thin line. Rickon launched into his day and baseball playoff schedule when Arya's phone buzzed against her skin, where it was tucked into the waistband of her pants.

Instantly, her heart rate sky rocketed in anticipation. As covertly as possible, the sneaky girl pushed the button with shaking fingers to display the message. **You okay?** Gendry. Disappointed, Arya shoved the phone back into her waistband and finished her pizza, ignoring the subsequent vibrations at her waist. The boy would just want to know, in no particular order: what was wrong, why she left, why wasn't she answering, what were they eating, and had she called Jon?

Following dinner and again ensconced in her bedroom, Arya ignored her messages and chose to call her absent brother. "Hey loser," she greeted him.

"What's up, juvenile delinquent?" Jon taunted, drudging up her ticket she had received for truancy. It was nothing he hadn't done himself and taught her to be more careful.

"Two things, actually. No three. First, you're stupid." The two siblings took great pride at displaying their love through degrading remarks. "Second, Gendry was wondering if you are still looking for a roommate. He's graduating this year with Sansa."

"Who's that?"

"A guy I know from school."

"Wait? A guy?"

Arya knew he couldn't see the look of dismay on her face, but it didn't stop her from making it as she replied, "A guy. From school. Graduating with Sansa. Needs a room. You have one."

"A guy?" he repeated with a laugh.

"Shut up! He needs a place to live. Want to meet him and decide? I won't be present for my mortification between Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. You can meet and have a bromance. Hug it out, share a bed."

"Seriously? A guy?"

"I hate you," Arya laughed, hanging up the phone. Jon would never stop repeating his words.

**The third thing?**

He was an observant big brother. Arya wasn't sure how to broach the subject of the enigmatic vehicle crash survivor. As much as she wanted to tell Jon about Jaqen, something in the back of her mind told her keep it her secret.

_Her father had been moving, rearranging and cleaning tools; the sound of the clashing metal and wood had drawn his dark-haired daughter into the garage. Without a word, the young girl found her stool and sat on it, watching Ned's frustration manifest and knowing to stay out of the way. Arya had no idea how long she had been sitting there, long enough that her legs ached from staying in the same position, but she waited until her father stilled. Her idol turned off the lights and took his daughter's small hand in his as they left the garage. His deep, baritone voice quietly rumbled,_ _"__Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust."_

The more she wrestled with telling Jon, the more determined she became to keep her mystery. Soon the man would be out of her life and she would have a fantastic story to tell years from now.

**Did you hear back from the recruiter?** Jon had met with Robb and Arya the previous week to let them know that he had enlisted with the National Guard. The recruiter was looking into Jon's testing scores for placement. Arya had teased Jon that he would end up on "The Wall," a unit of known small-time criminals and overall underdogs that patrolled the wasteland at Westeros' northern border. Though she had suggested it in jest, Arya secretly hoped that he would test higher for a better placement.

**No. I'll let you know as soon as I do.**

Arya had been taught that no news was better than bad news. An idea struck and she decided to text Gendry back that she was, indeed, alive and wondered if he had applied for service. The girl supposed that it would at least give him three hots and a cot if it didn't work out with Jon. Or life, in general.

Switching to her main text message screen, Arya's eyebrow shot up when she saw that six messages had been from her dark-haired friend; the other, a reply to her earlier text.

**A thief never makes a good first impression.**

He had remembered that she still had his knife. **I didn't steal it. I forgot I had it.** The last thing she needed was a ninja, knife-carrying man pestering her for something she hadn't meant to keep. **I will drop it off at the front desk tomorrow.**

Another text displayed at the top of her screen; Gendry sending a seventh message, asking if she was okay. Arya answered Gendry and said she was working on homework.

Then Jon fired back another text about "a guy."

**But I have need of it tonight.** Arya panicked. She was sure that she couldn't slip out and make it all the way to the hotel on foot. Sure, she could get out of the house undetected, but was positive that her mother would hear her rolling the car down the driveway, if she actually could get the car rolling. Pulling her hand through her hair, the flustered girl chewed at her lip trying to find her answer. **Midnight at your gate.**

The blood chilled in her veins…this guy knew where she lived. Clarity came within seconds; of course he did, he had heard her give it to the police dispatcher. Still, it was a bit creepy that the stranger would come to her house, stalkerish really. However, the sooner she gave it back, the sooner Jaqen would be out of her life. **Okay.**

Algebra held very little of the girl's attention after that. She assured her mother that she was feeling better and would go to school in the morning when Catelyn checked in on her at bedtime. The entire Stark house quieted in slumber just after eleven. Arya tugged on some black leggings and a black hooded sweatshirt with excruciatingly slow movements, freezing every time a wayward noise sounded in the house. Pepper spray tucked into the sweatshirt's pocket, the catlike girl carried her tennis shoes in one hand and the accidentally pilfered knife in the other as she crept down the stairs and out of the back door. Pausing to pull on her shoes, Arya decided to slip the folded blade near the arch of her right foot, just in case. She didn't know what "just in case" exactly meant at the moment, but the idea seemed to be a good one.

Moving along the turf next to the paved driveway, the girl kept her adjusted eyes trained on the gate and surrounding shrubs, her hand gripping the pepper spray canister. She stopped several yards away from the moonlit vegetation, trying to perceive any movement. A low laugh sounded from behind her. "That is entirely unnecessary, unless you enjoy capsicum perfume." Arya slowly turned to discover that Jaqen stood only a few feet away.

"Why did you make me come all the way down here when you could've just snuck into my room and taken your stupid knife?" The question spat out before she had time to think it through. She still hadn't released her only defense, even if he deemed it laughable.

"The thought had crossed my mind." Even in the pale moonlight, Arya could see Jaqen intently watching her. The irritated girl pulled the knife from her shoe, opened the blade and pitched it. By sheer luck, it impaled the grass near his feet. "You have more courage than sense to help a stranger," he murmured as he retrieved the knife. Arya stiffened, fearing that she may have just given her murderer his weapon until he tucked it back into his boot after closing the blade.

"Well, it was nice saving you from a burning car, Jaqen. I've got school in the morning, so…" she dragged out the last word and was met with silence from the man between her and the house. With a huff of air, Arya began the return to her bedroom.

When she had passed the man, careful not to get within reach, the bewildered girl heard the man speak again. "I still owe you a debt for my life."

Arya was quite done with the games this stranger was playing and whirled to face him. "What are you talking about?" she hissed.

"I have a certain…skill set," Jaqen cryptically offered in a low voice.

"What, carrying a sharp knife and stalking teenagers?"

"Though those are useful, usually my services are more intimate."

"Dude, I am NOT that type of girl," she quickly clarified. Jaqen chuckled and Arya was fed up with his chuckling. "Apparently, I need you to spell it out."

The man stepped closer, within reach of the girl. "Usually, one provides a name. Soon, the one named meets a somewhat timely end," he explained calmly, as if he were describing how to paint a house or pick a melon at the grocery store.

Arya stood stone still. It was her turn to chuckle, albeit nervously. "Wait, like an assassin?"

"Just so."

The hair on the back of her neck pricked up. Even in the coolness of the night, sweat suddenly beaded on her forehead. She instinctively knew he wasn't lying and she had just given him back his knife, the one that could remove her fingers if she wasn't careful. "Do not worry, lovely girl, I have no reason to harm you. In fact, not only do I owe you my life, but should you ever need me…"

"Joffrey Baratheon," Arya blurted out before he finished as tears filled her eyes.

The man nodded once. "This person, he will release me from my debt." The girl rapidly bobbed her head and swiped at the tears that had spilled over. "This person, he harmed you?"

"He murdered my father."

A moment of silence passed between the midnight visitors. "It will be done." Spoken in a foreign accent, his four words answered Arya's nightly prayers for Joffrey's death. Arya left the man and quietly crept back to her home.

She couldn't resist peeking out of her bedroom window towards the gate, yearning to see the outline of the assassin lurking in the shadows. Straining for several minutes, she saw nothing. Her phone buzzed from underneath her pillow and she knew who had sent the message without looking. Stubbornly, Arya refused to pick up the phone, instead, shifting her body to fully stand in the panes. Again, the phone hummed against the bed. The obstinate girl reached over to retrieve the gadget.

In the darkness of her room, the screen lit up her young face. **Why do you search for one who is not there?** Arya pushed the button to darken the screen and returned her gray eyes towards the gate. When she could barely blink her heavy eyelids, she collapsed onto her bed and pulled the comforter over her head.

**Goodnight, lovely girl.**

* * *

><p><strong>Bury Me – Thirty Seconds to Mars<strong>

**Glory and Gore – Lorde**


	7. Chapter 7

Having slept less than five hours did little to hamper Arya's optimistic mood the next morning, even if her eyelids felt excessively heavy. Bran mistakenly credited himself with her attitude change and his sister did little to discourage it. She forced any flitting, anxious thoughts behind the burgeoning hope of Joffrey's death. There was no doubt in her mind that the previous night had not been a dream; the girl was far too sensible to consider that.

Toting her wheelchair-bound brother to school had its privileges, including the closest parking spot with his convenient placard. "You're like the cat that ate the canary," Bran noted after they had parked and were approaching the gym. "What's up?"

"Dunno. Just happy." It was her secret and she trusted no one else with it.

Grabbing her hand, her younger brother brought her to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "You haven't been happy since Dad died." His candor was refreshing in a world that seemed to tip-toe around saying Ned's name out loud, as if it were some bad omen.

"Yup."

"You hook up with Gendry?"

Arya's face contorted. "No!" she vehemently denied, even though her pale cheeks flushed with color. The misleading girl would let her brothers think that she was enamored with the boy; some secrets were safer kept hidden. "I did _not_ hook up with Gendry. Did Jon tell you that?" She envisioned ways to assault her gray-eyed brother.

"No, but that seems to be the consensus going around school." Bran propelled himself forward again. All thoughts of harassing Jon disappeared as Arya's mind whirred around the school rumors; not that she listened to the chatter of the minions on the campus much, but she caught herself wondering what exactly was being said about her and the bull-headed boy.

Arya trotted to her class, keeping her eyes on the textbook and praying she wasn't called on for an answer, her mind bounced back and forth between the events of the previous day. Blips of moments flashed like pulses of light: Gendry's head in her lap, the smell of gasoline, slicing the seatbelt, Jaqen stopping to cough. The dubious theory surfaced and cast doubt on the previous afternoon's events as she remembered them; the idea burrowing and gnawing at the girl's belief. She remembered being thrust forward by the stranger, away from the car and when he stopped to cough, Arya's feet were on the pavement when the flames erupted. Had the flames spread from the car towards Jaqen? The more she concentrated on her senses from the day before, the more she was certain that it was quite the reverse.

Second period produced more reminiscing on the man who claimed to be an assassin. Despite her wishing, Arya's phone had not hummed with any contact from Jaqen. His accent was as unfamiliar to the girl as his scent, something similar to clove gum, having first inhaled it in the close quarters of her car and then again near the gate. She wondered how his hand or arm or whatever part of his left side was healing and in what way Jaqen was qualified to remedy his own appendage. Wherever her mind wandered, the patch of white hair above his ear, the pressure of his steady grip at her elbow, the infuriating chuckle, Arya rebuked her opinions on his eyes because if she gave the bronze irises pause, she almost felt like she could hear the assassin whispering foreign words into her ear.

Completely engrossed in forced ignorance of a pair of mesmerizing eyes, an intentional vehicle fire and the sheer luck of flicking the knife and having it stick in the ground, Arya was a bit disoriented at the end of her third period when the bell rang, signaling her early lunch period. Like a light switching on, she suddenly realized that Gendry would soon seek her out and pepper her with questions. Arya nodded her head in greeting when the tall boy appeared at her locker.

"Feeling better today?" It wasn't said as an accusation, but Arya thought she heard a bit of sadness to his question, as if Gendry imagined he was the cause of her illness.

"Yeah. Girl stuff." Maybe if she fed him the lie, he would get uncomfortable enough to not push the issue. From her experience with her brothers, guys had a tendency to flee from feminine hygiene problems.

"Ah, cramps, thou heartless hind." Arya twisted away from her open locker to gawk at the boy above her. "Shakespeare…Romeo and Juliet?" He paused as her face twisted into disbelief. "I just got out of English," he explained further.

"You're stupid," the exasperated girl blurted out, slamming her locker closed. She felt him press into her shoulder from behind as they walked, the closeness of his body making her concentration buzz with something akin to anticipation before she opened the door to the grassy quad. Arya didn't want to talk to Gendry about yesterday at all (some secrets were too dangerous to share), so she silently launched into her lunch bag. Her brain felt like a tennis ball volleying between the expectancy of Jaqen's promise and Gendry's recent attention.

"Want my apple?" he meekly offered several minutes later. One eye closed from the intense sunlight, Arya looked at the boy seated next to her on the lawn. His shoulders were even with her ears and more broad that most of the guys on campus. Again, it seemed like his dark t-shirt was stretched over his muscular chest, but the strange thrumming inside Arya didn't seem to mind. He held a green apple in his outstretched, calloused hand; the conflicted girl mused before accepting it, because she knew that taking it was the right thing to do. Gendry was always just Gendry before he plopped his head into her lap the day before and stirred up unexpected feelings, like a book hitting a dusty shelf.

In a deliberate move, Arya accepted the fruit, dragging the side of her hand along his palm. "Thanks," she said, enjoying the warmth that seemed to spread from their skin contact. Struck with rare embarrassment, the dark-haired girl sunk her teeth into the tart gift. The benefactor shifted and his arm stretched diagonally behind Arya's back, applying the slightest pressure to the girl's shoulder blades.

Both of her eyes closed in the sunshine and her head dropped back as she lifted her chin to the warm rays. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel Gendry's stare. Cracking an eyelid, she unsuccessfully tried to glare at him, instead achieving the look of a pained pirate, which earned her a burst of laughter from the teenager next to her. Arya gently rocked her shoulder into his rib cage, developing a rapid appreciation for the chance to touch Gendry and the fiery sensation it lit somewhere behind her belly button.

The bell signaling the end of the break shocked the girl back from her newfound distraction. Gendry conveniently scrambled to stand first in order to help Arya up, offering his hand to her. She took it, hoping in equal parts that he would hold and release it, having never been a proponent for public displays of affection. Nothing made her skin crawl like a lip-locked couple, ignorant of the rest of the world while their hands roamed and their throats hummed. As she was pulled up from the grass by the boy, suddenly in the close proximity of the muscular chested boy that looked at her with expectation, Arya felt (for the first time) that she wouldn't mind being stuck in a tangle of arms and legs.

Although he did not take her hand in his as they walked back towards her locker, Arya felt Gendry trace his index finger along her knuckles, as if to test the line that he knew was established in the presence of a crowd. He had been her sounding board in the hallway or cafeteria when teenagers hung on each other's arm or draped a leg across the other or, heaven forbid, had their tongues shoved down the other's throat. "Tongues battling for dominance," the annoyed girl had scoffed on countless occasions.

In the hallway, she knew that they both would be tardy to their classes; her eyes were riveted to his rough finger that had been joined by the rest of his hand and practically danced across Arya's hand, rolling, urging, beckoning her to react. Whether involuntary or premeditated, her thumb trailed across his and from the corner of her eye, she could see Gendry jerk up his chin to look at her.

Throughout their school year together, from the first day she slammed into his body (not watching where she was walking) and blamed him for it until the day before, the pair poised in front of Arya's locker had a solid friendship based on mocking each other, honesty, half-hearted punches to the arms, and knowing that one had the other's back, unless an argument between themselves erupted, which happened on a fairly often basis. She had considered Gendry part of her pack, like Jon, on the fringes yet wholly accepted. The fatherless boy had mutely sat next to her for days on end during lunch earlier in the school year, his silent presence alleviating the overwhelming hollowness that encompassed her life after Ned's murder. Gendry's unhurried and relaxed approach helped Arya to find her way back from the blackness, a gracious and unjudging shoulder when she needed, unhurt by the girl's inherent need to tell him to shut up.

Though Arya felt that most boys at school were preening, arrogant jerks who felt like they needed to prove something, the colossal youth before her, tracing her fingers more delicately than she could have ever imagined, had unassumingly stepped up and sparked feelings that she had previously thought ridiculous - obnoxious even. Even as Gendry turned her wrist upwards and slowly pulled his thumb across the sensitive skin and goosebumps raced up her arm in response, Arya felt a small part of her rebel at the thought of being one of the girls she despised, foolish and dependent on a guy. That fleeting doubt grabbed her with its claws when an errant scent of cloves filled her nose.

"We are so tardy," she declared, recovering her hand from the seemingly magical touch of Gendry Waters. When Arya turned and opened her locker, one of those charmed hands purposefully splayed out on the locker door beside hers at her eye level just before the other pushed her locker door fully open and rested at the same level as the other. The alert girl froze for a moment as Gendry barely leaned into her from behind, the pressure of his body flipping the panic switch in Arya's mind. "I gotta go," she mumbled before grabbing her books, slamming the locker closed and ducking under the muscular arm. The flustered girl was sure that if she turned to look at her locker, depthless blue eyes would be staring right back, so she broke into a jog until she reached World History.

Bran had conveniently forgot to tell Arya that he had drama practice until he rammed her in the back of the legs with his chair, unapologetically, after the final bell. Frustrated that she'd have to hang out for an hour, she shot a quick text to her mom explaining the situation and then debated the merits of finding the boy that made her concentration impossible that afternoon. Why shouldn't she like Gendry? She could control herself and not be a fool about it, she reasoned as she craned her neck to find the object of her…affections? Desires? No, Arya was far too practical for that. She would agonize over the bizarre, flickering reaction to Gendry's fingers after Joffrey was cold and stiff.

She spied him across the campus, slinking next to a wall and walking with the group of baseball players headed to their practice, shoulders hunched forward to minimize his height. Grabbing her phone, Arya tried to get his attention.

**I see you.** Gendry looked at the screen before the group rounded a corner and pushed it back into his pocket. As he disappeared with the other boys, Arya stared after him, baffled. She thought that he would have at least thrown a hand up and waved an acknowledgement. Her confusion quickly ignited into anger, a trait that her father had warned her about.

_"__Anger is just confusion's bodyguard," Ned had enlightened to his short daughter after she exploded at the dinner table and been banished to her room in the aftermath. Arya glared at the man speaking from the doorway; she didn't need his kung-fu words of wisdom, she wanted to be alone. "Confusion happens. Anger is a choice, little wolf." Her father pulled the door closed just as she pelted it with a pillow._

Adjusting her attitude, Arya decided to dismiss the lunchtime shenanigans and chalk it up to hormonal tendencies; it was cleaner, less confusing that way. She'd rather have Gendry as her friend than lose it all to a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. He'd cool off during baseball practice and text her later…she hoped. She settled onto a cement table to work on homework. Algebra problems were tucked into her binder when the tall, familiar shadow shaded Arya's head and relief flooded her heart.

Gendry loped next her to the parking lot while Bran trailed far behind with his own friends. She had be rattling along about going to Jon's for the weekend when a massive arm shot across her chest and stopped her in her tracks. Grimacing in pain and wondering if the not-so-discreet boy had meant to shove his arm right across _that_ particular part of her anatomy, Arya looked up at the boy who protectively stared straight ahead. She followed his gaze to her car and saw the object of his caution, casually reclining against her driver's door.

Pushing past the shielding arm, the delighted girl couldn't help but smile at the trespassing assassin. Jaqen's eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but Arya knew they tracked her movements as she made her way towards her car, as well as the oversized teenager just behind her shoulder. A toothpick played at the corner of the man's lips.

Seized by both shoulders, Arya nearly fell over as Gendry hauled her backwards and then unceremoniously shoved her behind his gigantic frame. "Dude!" she yelled as soon as her feet were back underneath her. "What are you doing?"

The boy turned, placing himself squarely between the assassin and the girl. Arya was utterly stumped as his blue eyes bounced back and forth between her own: right, left, right left. Abruptly, he hauled her small frame into his chest and roughly smashed his lips into hers. Everything she had secretly dreamed of and hoped for in her first kiss was ruined; there were no affectionate words, no gentleness, not a hint of tenderness. Gendry brutally held her in place while her body reacted (revolted really) and she squirmed to try and break away. Finally, Arya stomped her Converse heel onto his toe. As soon as the boy let her arms go, the livid girl reared backwards and bashed his nose with her fist.

Both the girl and boy howled curses, she cradling her hand and he tipping back his bloodied nose, and the man shifted his toothpick and chuckled.

* * *

><p><strong>Disarm - Smashing Pumpkins (and cover by The Civil Wars)<strong>

**Wrong - Depeche Mode**


	8. Chapter 8

If a petite girl of seventeen was capable of roaring, Arya most certainly did, to both quiet her brother's questions and hasten his progress to get into her car. After grappling Bran's wheelchair with the benefit of one hand only into her trunk, the exasperated girl snapped at the lounging assassin, "Get off of my car!" He responded, lackadaisically moving away while removing his sunglasses and anchoring his gaze on the wounded girl. She yanked open her door and hit the leather seat only to have to stand again to reach across her abdomen with her unhurt hand to retrieve her car keys from her pocket before depositing her body behind the steering wheel again. With much effort to reach under the steering column to push the key into the ignition and turn it, Arya finally barked at Bran (there was no requesting tone in her voice) to slide the shifter into reverse.

Between the throbbing pain in her hand and the fury burning her mind from Gendry hijacking her first kiss like a Neanderthal marking his woman, Arya backed the BMW from the parking stall. She looked up to see said caveman pinching his nose as he walked in the opposite direction just before Jaqen stepped into the asphalt spot her car had just vacated. The unassuming assassin pulled the toothpick from his mouth and the girl found herself unable to decide whether to ram him with her bumper or just leave. Next to her, Bran pulled the shifter into drive and a moment's hesitation coupled with the knowledge that Jaqen would probably slit her throat later made Arya turn the steering wheel away from the now slowly advancing killer. From her rearview mirror, the girl saw the man step into the driveway to watch her retreat.

Bran held his silent vigil as his sister sped home, the irate girl reciting the most interesting conjugations of every foul word that she could think of. Arya insisted, through her gritted teeth, that Bran never bring up the subject again. She noticed that he didn't even offer the slightest reply, keeping his gaze steadily fixed on the scenery outside of the car.

Arya hadn't even contemplated the consequences of explaining her hand to her mom until Catelyn emerged from the house to help with Bran's wheelchair. Their mother habitually asked how their day went, along with checking on her son's drama production and the amount of homework his older sister had to complete. Mind racing with possibilities, Arya blurted out, "Mom, I punched someone."

Slowly, elegantly, Catelyn Stark finished helping Bran into his chair before standing and looking at her youngest daughter over the top of the BMW. Arya knew her mom carefully mediated on her answer before responding. "I didn't receive a phone call for your expulsion, so I'm curious about the story." Bran wheeled himself around the car, a flick of his dark blue eyes at his perpetually troubled sister before he headed out of the familial war zone.

The rattled girl took a deep breath to both delay the explanation and collect her thoughts. Her mother would speed dial the police if she thought that her daughter had been sexually assaulted in the least bit. Although Gendry had, in fact, forced the kiss from Arya, he was still her best friend (well, not at the moment). It was becoming increasingly easier to lie to her mom. "A guy grabbed my butt and I hit him harder than I thought I was going to. And I punched him in the nose, BUT it was after school and hardly anyone was around." The second half of her sentence came out sounding like one long word.

"Arya," Catelyn sighed, sounding more perturbed than concerned.

"I honestly didn't mean to hit him that hard." That part was honest and her hand agreed. "Can I have some ibuprofen?" The youngest Stark girl held up her hand, hoping to elicit sympathy from the bruising and slight swelling.

Homework was plainly excruciating that night, the delicate balance of her pencil or pen between her fingers led to sloppy writing and painful torture and, ultimately, desertion. Half a dozen times, she picked up her phone, torn between texting an apology to Gendry or demanding an enlightenment to what exactly he was thinking. Each time she typed out a message, she spent an equal amount of time erasing it. Nothing would ever be the same between them, she inherently knew, even though she desperately wished for a magic wand to regain normalcy with her friend. Arya knew she would be lucky if he allowed her to even catch a glimpse of him in the hallway the next week; when he wanted to be, Gendry Waters could be just as evasive as his smaller counterpart.

An agonizing poking and prodding examination of the girl's hand before bed and Catelyn determined that there were no broken bones; maybe a sprain, definitely bruising, but nothing broken. Arya heard the frustration as her mom reminded her the merits of walking away from a situation like that. Mutely, the girl nodded in agreement while her mind protested that had her mother known the entire story, the counsel would have been much different.

Sleep teased Arya's body; she was unquestionably drained yet alert from her second day of seemingly constant drama. The unflappable girl rolled back and forth, shifting, stretching and curling on her bed until she finally found a comfortable spot, flat on her stomach, pillow thrown to the floor. Just Arya felt the tug of sweet oblivion, her phone buzzed next to her head. It had to be Gendry. In her haste, she knocked her right hand against the wall and screwed her lips tightly together so that she didn't wake the house with the scream she held back.

**How is your hand?** Arya had programmed her phone with a new display name: The Assassin. Her clock showed that it was nearly midnight and the exhausted girl really didn't want to have a tête-à-tête with the man right now. Groaning from the pain, Arya plopped backwards onto her back and stared at the ceiling. **It is rude to ignore an assassin.**

"Blah, blah, blah," Arya whispered to the ceiling after reading the message.

**And quite discourteous to mock him.** The girl froze, breath held and heart slamming inside her ribcage. It was as if he were watching her, legs splayed all over the bed and t-shirt riding up her sides, revealing her not-overly-cute underwear. Slowly, ever so slowly, Arya inched her hands down, tugging the shirt downwards. Instantly stilled when the phone buzzed again, she realized just how rapid her breathing had become. **No need to be shy. **

A flick of her thumb and she turned on the flashlight app on her phone, wildly flashing it around her bedroom to reveal the creepy stalker. When her cursory view showed nothing out of the ordinary, the puzzled girl found herself pressed against her headboard and wondering if she had imagined the entire thing. The messages were there, she assured herself, then speculated if there were some sort of hidden spy camera. She fired off a short text to Jaqen. **You are a stalker.**

**When necessary.**

What did he mean by that? Arya's face must have twisted into a questioning look because a new text lit up her screen. **You rely on your sight too much. Concentrate.**

"Screw that," she muttered, jumping up and flipping on the switch at the door to illuminate the entire room. Nothing amiss or out of place, the girl pulled open her closet door. Nonchalantly, the leather jacket clad intruder raised his eyebrows, as if she had disturbed his meditation. "What are you doing in my closet?" she demanded in a whisper.

"A man finds that he needs more information to complete his task."

"So you broke into my house, hid in my closet and watched me while I slept?" Her volume level steadily rose above a whisper. She was proportionately infuriated and frightened at her own question and downright terrified of his answer.

"Although you were not asleep, but just so." Again, she was at a loss for the meaning of his words and her jaw dropped open. "Had you given me time earlier, I would not be here now," the man clarified. Cloves hung in the closet air.

Her eyebrows furrowed and Arya incredulously shook her head back and forth. "Get out." When Jaqen made no effort to move, the seventeen year old reiterated her meaning by beckoning her visitor towards her bedroom door that led to the hallway. "I will deal with you tomorrow. Get out of my room… no, get out of my house." She should have been utterly revolted by the assassin's methods, yet she found herself more congratulatory of his unorthodox technique to get her attention.

"Let me see your hand first," he quietly requested.

"What, do you have some voodoo, blood magic?" It was then that the half-naked girl realized that she was, indeed, covered only by a t-shirt that just _barely_ covered her bum and that the assassin's left side seemed completely restored. Color flooded her pale cheeks at her exposure and deepened when the man in the closet gently took her injured hand into his own. His touch reminded her of Gendry's. Jaqen's muttered, foreign words came just before he pulled on her middle finger quickly, spun her around and slapped his other hand across her mouth to muffle the scream that exploded from Arya's throat.

As her chest heaved up and down and the burning pain gradually lessened, the man's lips moved near her ear. She could feel her bare legs pressed against his jeans. "It was dislocated. Tape it to the other. I will contact you later." And just like that, the assassin released his hostage, nudged past her and turned off the light switch as he left.

Left in the dark, Arya randomly remembered that it was Saturday, seeing as how midnight had come and gone. Gratefully knowing that she would be allowed to sleep in, the dead-tired girl fell into bed, not caring one way or the other if there was another ninja assassin stowed somewhere in her room. But she did remember to pull up the comforter to her chin.

Arya knew she had slobbered all over her pillow before her eyes even opened. Somewhere on the story below, Rickon was yelling and running like a baby elephant, more than likely from Bran. The youngest brother's feet soon thundered up the stairs before mockingly yelling at his paraplegic brother that he was "safe." A lazy smile spread across their sister's lips as she heard Bran dump over his chair and start to haul his body up the stairs, causing Rickon to shriek in delight before yelling, "Zombie! Zombie!" Still, as Arya wiped the drool from her cheek, she would have been indebted to have another hour of sleep.

The chilly morning air induced goosebumps up both legs. The teenager hiked her t-shirt and looked at her underwear. Although there was absolutely nothing wrong with them, Arya vowed to dispose of any others that were threadbare or just plain hideous. Nothing like being caught in your skivvies by a creepy, closet-stalking assassin to put your underwear priorities in order.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, the sleepy girl sauntered downstairs to find some grub. Catelyn was seated at the counter, mug of coffee in one hand, while she perused what Arya knew to be the news on her tablet. "Morning, kiddo," the older woman called over the rim of her mug. Hair pulled back into a tangled braid, no makeup and eyes puffy from sleep, Catelyn Stark was still stunningly beautiful. "How's the hand?"

Arya looked at her somewhat bruised hand and flexed it; although stiff, there was almost no pain. A grin crept up her lips, remembering that she had nearly bit the fingers that stifled her scream. "Actually, pretty good." She tested her grip on the full gallon of milk and found that it was bearable and solid. Maybe the wardrobe-hiding killer did use voodoo, blood magic to fix her hand. In tandem. Arya's mind swung to Gendry and wondered how his nose fared this morning.

"Good." Her mother's voice brought the girl's wandering mind back to the kitchen. "Do you have homework to do this weekend?" Arya knew that while her mom's bright blue eyes were on the tablet, their peripheral vision was bar none.

"Yup. History. English paper. I was wondering if I can go by Jon's later today," the girl requested prior to finishing her entire glass of milk. "He should be finding out today where he stationed."

Catelyn had years of practice to reign her facial expressions in regards to her stepson, the one brought into her marriage _after_ she and Ned had already rejoiced in their oldest son's birth. Still, Arya could see the slightest tick near the corner of her mother's mouth flagging her disapproval at her daughter's wish. "You may, after you finish all of your homework." Elated at the small victory, Arya slid next to her mom at the counter and planted a quick kiss on the scarcely wrinkled cheek. "Eat some breakfast and don't forget your chores," Catelyn reminded her usually absent-minded (or was it purposefully distracted) daughter.

It was late afternoon before Arya had finished both her homework and chores, satisfying the previous guidelines to earn freedom. She had persistently checked her phone all day for either messages from Gendry or Jaqen and was perfectly annoyed to find that neither had sent one. Arya had fulfilled Sansa's demand to know why the internet was blowing up about the fight by telling her older sister to shove her social media where the sun didn't shine and to mind her own business. While Arya was sure that remark would earn a black mark against her from Sandor, she cared little about the fallout now that she knew an assassin.

Jon was scowling when Arya arrived, banging his tools just like their father did when he was angry. The concerned girl balanced on the stool near his work area and flinched when her older brother flung a wrench and it skidded off of the cement floor and into the wall causing the shop cat, Ceolwen, to hiss and run away. The girl knew better than to ask what was wrong; she and Jon nearly mirrored each other in their emotions and if someone asked her what was wrong after she tossed a wrench, they _might_ end up hearing a bit more than they had asked for.

Arya's heart dropped when Jon stared at her from under the hood of the car he worked on. His jaw worked back and forth and she could see his erratic breathing under his black shirt. Finally he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. While walking towards his baby sister, blinking quickly to keep his reaction in check, Jon halted just before depositing the heavy-duty encased phone into Arya's lap.

She knew what it said before she even looked down. The crestfallen girl forced herself to confirm her suspicions. Arya hated herself after she read the message. In fact, she hated everyone at that particular moment.

**Pvt. Snow. Assignment: The Wall.**

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><p><strong>"<strong>**Mouthful of Diamonds" - Phantogram**

**"****Red" – Sister Machine Gun**

_This chapter is dedicated to the delightfully insistent and lovely Winterlyn Dow. Just because I'm the author and I can do it. _


	9. Chapter 9

Arya stayed with Jon for another hour, perusing the internet for the latest rumors on The Wall; from the nearby enemy troop movements and attacks to the facts on the decrepit housing and obsolete technology. Apparently, the generations of soldiers stationed at The Wall prided themselves on the impenetrable barrier that had been constructed hundreds of years before. The latest weather reports did nothing to lend satisfaction of Jon's assignment as the temperatures usually hovered in the just-below-freezing for weeks on end. Petty criminals and juvenile offenders set to age up in the system were housed at the same location, with minimum security, to "work" their sentences off; they provided labor repairing the wall, mechanics for vehicles, general handymen. Good behavior by the convicts led to more freedom at The Wall, being trained with weaponry to transition into the Service if they chose (a fact that did _not_ warm Arya's heart).

Still, the day passed into early evening and her phone remained silent. After returning home, Arya offered to help with dinner and was elbow deep in flour while making biscuits when her phone buzzed in her pocket. As if the noise kindled a suppressed statement, Catelyn spoke from her spot next to the mediocre baker, "I…Robb told me where Jon is going to be stationed. I'm sorry that he will be so far away." Her appreciative daughter nodded; Arya could tell that her mother meant every word. Catelyn may have had no loss of love for the boy she raised for her husband's sake but she would never wish more heartache on her daughter.

The phone remained painfully ignored through the remainder of dinner preparations, Arya tip-toeing in her mother's good graces for the time being. Excusing herself to the restroom before the meal was served, the sneaky daughter saw that the assassin had sent the message. Although excited, something nagged the girl, pulled at the despondent part of her entire self that the text hadn't been from her best friend (although she refused to allow herself to believe that she missed his stupid texts). Chewing on her bottom lip, Arya swiped her finger across the screen to open the message.

**I have need of information.**

If nothing else, the foreigner was tenacious and repetitious with his request. **What do you need?**

She could only delay a few minutes before Catelyn called that dinner was on the table. Irritated, with the lack of response, the teen shoved her phone into the waistband of her jeans and sulked to the dining room. Did this assassin ever provide any straightforward answers in a timely matter without sneaking into her house and hiding in her closet after lighting a car on fire?

Arya waved off playing video games with her brother and sequestered herself into her room with the music turned to an appropriate level. Dinner had turned interesting following Sansa's announcement that she had been accepted to Vale University and would be moving in with their Aunt Lysa after graduation so that she could settle for a few months before school started. Catelyn revealed that she and Robb would be traveling to her brother's wedding around the same time and the three youngest children could come if they wanted (which none accepted). Bran's physical therapist Osha had already agreed to stay with the children during the road trip.

Feet propped high up on the wall, Arya contemplated what she would do with her mom and Robb gone: sleep in every day, blow off chores. Her first fleeting thought of hanging with Jon was bitterly met with reality. Her military bound brother may, _possibly_, have the ability to call or text by then and that realization sent the girl into a depressive funk, which caused Arya to turn up the music, which then caused her mother to yell to turn it down, which then turned the girl's mood even more tart.

**Tomorrow. 10 am at Harren's Hall. **A cryptic message from a stranger that was likely to show up in the girl's locker room at school to get her attention was just what Arya needed to turn her outlook around. While she inherently questioned the reason to meet at the community college in the next town, there was always an element of bewilderment with this assassin.

**It's a big campus.** Arya felt a tinge of superiority with her answer.

**I'm sure I'll be able to find you.** And just like that, she was no more superior than a toenail on a chicken.

The deceitful girl was able to feign spending her Sunday with Jon and asked her oldest brother to meet up with the duo for lunch. Arya already had a concoction ready for Jon; she would meet him for breakfast, beg off to meet another friend and then meet up for lunch with her brothers at the local Chinese place. By her calculations, the timing would be perfect if she was a little heavy with her gas petal and that thought gave way to possibly being delayed by a temperamental police officer. Her multi-faceted plan in place, the teenager set off the next morning for her abbreviated meeting with Jon before speeding away towards the meeting with a clove infused, accented man.

Arya was worried that she would be recognized, even a town away. Somehow, there always seemed to be someone that remembered her as Ned's daughter which then transitioned into a plethora of questions about how she and the family were doing. She never seemed to come up with the perfect answer to nosey acquaintance to serve them with the fact that she really didn't want to bring up her father's murder; usually the encounter ended with Arya falsely saying, "Well, I need to go. I'll let my mom know I saw you," which never would happen.

Hunched down on a bench, her eyes searched the passing students for Jaqen's familiar figure. Ladies pushing strollers, students enjoying the weekend, and couples hanging off each other all walked by the girl's observation spot, the latter pulling the chord of guilt in her mind; she wondered for the hundredth time how Gendry was. Arya shifted to casually look behind her and saw a flash of red hair that made her panic that in one way or another, Sansa happened to be at the same place as her younger sister. Returning her gaze forward while nonchalantly hiding her face with a free hand, Arya was startled by the assassin who had silently sat down beside her.

"Sweet Moses!" the stunned girl gasped, flinching away from the man.

"If I need to be, then yes." A toothpick bounced at the corner of his upturned lips.

"You said you needed information?"

Jaqen reached up and removed the toothpick, silently examining it as if it were an important piece of evidence. Finally, he spoke without making eye contact, "My contract. I do not usually ask questions. Ever." He punctuated his point by swiveling his eyes to hers, his stare making her feel the potency of his words. "However, because I owe you a great debt, I will allow you a small measure of satisfaction with my services." Jaqen reverted his gaze to the toothpick.

Arya remained still, willing every muscle in her body to freeze and keeping her breathing steady while she blinked evenly. Was this man offering to let her participate in the murder of Joffrey? An errant curl fell onto her cheek and when she denied herself the chance to push it back, the assassin smoothed it behind her ear pausing long enough that Arya was certain that her blush ignited from his evocative touch.

The brush of his hand startled her, its pressure more tender than she would have imagined. She flicked her eyes up to his and found that his overt stare confirmed that it had not been accidental in nature. She felt his finger touch, then linger at the pulse point on her wrist and her lips parted as her breath hitched. The girl's insides twisted. Gendry's face toyed with her memory and Arya's lips closed again as he pulled his hand away.

"You may choose, lovely girl, whether or not he will go quietly."

The blackness in her soul grasped Arya's heart and offered its true feelings. "I'd humiliate him in every way possible. He'd die like a screaming girl in front of everyone, pissing himself." It felt like her lungs were being squeezed when she stopped and gritted her teeth.

"So that you may never know the pain of guilt, there will be time for me to give you proof that he is guilty of what you say." Jaqen's voice was low as he pushed the curl that tempted to drop from behind the girl's ear again. "Guilt cannot change the past once it is done and your soul would never recover should it prove untrue."

"But it's not!" Arya seethed. "He texted Sansa but I had her phone. I know he did it!" She abruptly stopped her rant as a small boy on a scooter fell directly in front of the seated pair on the bench. The child stood, tears in his eyes, adjusted his helmet and pushed forward towards a man calling for him further down the sidewalk. Her father would never call for her again.

"Just so, allow me this leniency. There is a guilt that accompanies grievous mistakes that cannot be washed away. You should never know it."

Arya knew he was right and just nodded her head in agreement. Although she hated the thought of delaying Joffrey's eminent termination, the faithful girl trusted the stranger next to her. Her mind drifted for a few seconds and she heard herself whispering into her father's ear as she watched the father and son on his scooter, "Daddy, I love you."

"He was well admired." Even through the heavy accent, the sincerity in Jaqen's voice was unmistakable.

"He was." She watched the father and son disappear behind a building before she spoke again. "I should go," Arya reluctantly sighed before standing. Jaqen rose and stood next to her. The petite girl found herself silently chanting a mantra not to look at those hypnotic eyes and focused on his boots and the fact that she could not detect the weapon he had concealed there. "Do you have a holder or holster of some sort that holds your knife?" she queried, thinking that she could wear something like that in her Converse. It wasn't as if she needed it or wanted to be expelled if she had a knife, but the thrill of knowing she had a blade that no one would be able to detect was certainly tempting.

"Yes, a sheath. Would you like to see it?" He suggested that they move to her car for discretion after Arya enthusiastically nodded. "Wouldn't want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves as knives and guns tend to draw notice." Once in the BMW, Jaqen removed his boot and Arya inspected the black straps secured from knee to shin, holding the sheath flush against the assassin's muscular calf. She covetously ran her hand over the contraption in admiration.

"I wouldn't mind one of those," the acquisitive girl speculated as the man replaced his boot.

A low chuckle preceded Jaqen's reply. "There are reasons why you must not have this now. First, you would be banished from schooling."

"Expelled." Arya was annoyed that he thought of that detail but then remembered that the assassin seemed to know many, many convenient facts.

"Just so," he continued, tugging the leg of his khaki pants back down and obscuring her view of the prize she desired. "And you have no training with this. You would be better suited to be armed with a pencil and your wit."

"I can train!" Arya indignantly complained. "Robb taught me how to shoot his gun and I'm very good!"

"Is that so?" Jaqen seemed to contemplate the truth of the statement, staring at the girl as she held his scrutiny. "Why would you have need of such a blade?"

The girl had not thought out that particular point, only that it would be handy to have a knife on her person. Honesty was always best with a trained killer in the passenger seat. "I dunno. Thought it may be handy one day."

Again, the assassin seemed to meditate on her comeback, as if there were some virtue in her flippant answer. "Would your father approve?"

As if she had be sucker punched in the gut, Arya pushed out her breath and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. The mere mention of her father's approval struck the match to the tinder of her inner storm. "My dad is dead," she choked through her teeth, blinking to keep the angry tears back.

The man's eyes had never left hers from his initial question and they continued to watch her reaction before countering, as if he were trying to see her layers of emotions peel off. "I know this, lovely girl. But he is the reason your debt will be redeemed and he was of the utmost importance in your life. Knowing this, that your heart grieves still for him, that you would still please him, I ask you again: would your father approve?"

"You didn't have to see it!" Arya furiously spat out. "You didn't see my dad get shot in the head! I had to see it, so you just shut the hell up!" Fury and woe permeated the girl and she turned her face from the assassin as a sob escaped.

"Lovely girl," Jaqen finally replied after Arya's weeping had subsided, "I will train you, have no doubt."

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><p><strong>Extreme Ways – Moby<strong>

**When You Were Young – The Killers**


	10. Chapter 10

"Comin' in hot, eh?" Robb asked over the top of his sunglasses as their belated sister exited her car after flying through the parking lot, clocking in over twenty minutes late. "If you had been any later, we had already decided to see if you had a hickey as an excuse," her oldest brother teased, pushing her head to the side to inspect her neck.

"Gross!" the girl scoffed. Gratefully, her brothers abandoned the explanation for her tardiness and rambled on about Jon's moving, Robb and his girlfriend Jeyne, who was a nursing student at Harren's Hall, and Sansa moving to Aunt Lysa's.

The oldest, more serious brother swore the duo to secrecy halfway through lunch before spilling the details of how he was going to propose to Jeyne later in the week. Arya was thrilled for Robb, although she didn't know much about the studious, taking-more-classes-than-normal-people-to-finish-early Jeyne. Jon was genuinely happy for his brother and joked that he was only sorry that he wouldn't be around for the wedding planning, suggesting that the two elope so that he wasn't the only one to miss the wedding. Robb laughed that the idea, ultimately Jeyne's decision, was actually a good one.

Full of Chinese, the trio made the short trip to Jon's apartment. Arya felt like she had won the lotto when Jon gave her free reign to take whatever she wanted, from t-shirts to his convertible. Robb agreed to take over the rent when Jon moved to establish a place of his own before he was married, whenever that happened. "Plus," their eldest brother reasoned, "These dishes are the perfect pattern to offset the wallpaper."

Arya trekked home later that evening, completely exhausted and joyful. She carefully masked her delight so that Catelyn didn't ask too many questions. After a quick shower, the wet-headed girl looked at her phone again, wishing that she'd just give in and text Gendry but succumbing to her own stubbornness and turning off the screen again. She reasoned that he had been the one to force himself on her, so he could apologize first.

Monday turned into Tuesday, then Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and the ignored young woman felt her heart equally wretch into anger and despondency over the lack of contact from her best friend. Gendry had made a point to avoid Arya altogether; she had only glimpsed him twice during the week and had to resort to asking Bran to ask about him.

Had Gendry been the only barren spot in her life, Arya may have been able to cope, but the ever elusive Jaqen had also gone radio silent with the girl. By Friday night, the debased teen barked at her sister at the dinner table and earned a lovely weekend grounding to round out her perfectly atrocious week.

She slipped into one her favorite t-shirts that declared, "I Prefer The Drummer" when she retreated to the safety of her own bedroom. Fiddling with her pocket knife, morphed into tearing up an unloved shirt into strips that were cut, folded and then safety pinned into a poor man's version of the holster Jaqen wore that would hold her pocket knife in the high tops. Excited by her first successful version, the enthusiastic girl fashioned a way to secure the small knife to the inside of her bra, gleefully twisting one way and then the other to prove that it couldn't be seen.

Bursting with unbridled pride, she took a picture of the calf contraption and sent it to the assassin for his approval.

**Clever girl.**

Arya grinned at the message. **I know. Productive week?** There had to be some kind of progress with Joffrey.

**You cannot rush something that needs to be done right.**

A little part of hope inside of Arya broke free and fell away. Why did this guy have to say things like her dad did; things that made sense and were infuriating at the same time? **Fine. Grounded, no training for me.**

**Push-ups. Sit-ups. 100 each.** Arya laughed and then slid down to the carpet to get to work. After twelve push-ups, the girl switched from her fatigued arms and rolled to her back. Seventeen sit-ups later, the teenager lay panting on her floor thinking that there was no way she could do it. Rather than broadcast her failure, she chose not to send another text to Jaqen.

The only reprieve Arya had for the weekend was Jon's visit for dinner on Sunday night. It was the first time since their father's wake that her brother known by a different last name was invited to sit among his siblings for one last time before his departure. The dark-haired girl was delighted to fling a pea at Jon when Catelyn bent to retrieve her napkin.

Again, the week passed similar to the one before, with rare sightings of her apparently former best friend. Arya's school days were bleak and her lunch periods even more lonesome. The few times she saw the tall boy, he was surrounded by his brotherhood of baseball players, horsing around and being ridiculous; it was if he was acting absurd just to prove a point that he didn't need her around. She ached to go back to how they used to be. She just wanted to be Arya and have him be stupid Gendry.

Every night, despite the burning muscles, the girl concentrated on doing more push-ups and sit-ups than the previous night. By the time the following Friday night came, Arya triumphantly could do forty of each. She traced a henna design she had seen online onto her hand in black, permanent marker instead of working on her homework when she became morose over the fact that Jon was leaving in a matter of days, followed by graduation, Sansa's move (which she wasn't torn up about at all), and then Robb and their mother's trip to the wedding. Not to mention the fact that Robb was moving out AND newly engaged. Or that Sansa would neither confirm nor deny if, in fact, Sandor would be leaving town. Bran was getting a new, composite wheelchair. Rickon, well, he just was content to climb trees. Meanwhile, Arya was left to draw up her arm with the marker, knowing full well of the disdainful look she'd receive from her mom.

Saturday, after a preemptive explanation that the ink would wash off before Monday, Arya told her mom that she was going to spend the day with Jon, cleaning the apartment for Robb, who had disappeared with his new fiancée for the weekend. And when he returned to move in on Sunday afternoon, Robb surprised his siblings by introducing his wife, having taken his brother's advice and eloping. Sunday dinner was altogether polite and terse, the matriarch's clipped irritation for being kept from the wedding, painfully obvious. Robb and Jeyne stayed at a local bed and breakfast, against the weak protests from Catelyn, for the next two days until Jon vacated.

Tuesday morning, Catelyn called the school and advised them that Arya was sick. It was true, in a sense; the girl had only known more misery when her father was murdered. As hard as she tried, the younger sister could not contain her tears when Jon pulled her in and hugged her as if it were the last time that they would see each other. "Be good, little wolf," he whispered into her curls, sounding every bit like their father.

"Never," she fiercely croaked back. When her favorite brother boarded the bus, Arya swore her heart left with him. As the bus pulled away, the girl felt like everything good had been ripped from her life: her dad, Gendry, Jon. Before the transport even made the first corner, Arya wished Jon was back.

Hours later, curled up in misery, Arya received a text. **I have business. I will be back.** And just like that, the enigmatic Jaqen vanished, leaving the girl with nothing but her melancholy as company

Dismal and friendless weeks later, the dark-haired girl sat alongside her family at the graduation ceremony for her older sister. She cared little for the pomp and circumstance of the day, the fact that her beautiful and graceful sister graduated with top grades with numerous colored cords and sashes or that the weather was perfect; Arya hyper-focused on the tall boy who sat deep in the sea of blue graduation robes. Her fingers folded and refolded together as Gendry strode across the stage to receive his diploma. She wished he would look up in the stands for her, silently willed him to do it, and grieved when he laughed and waved at friends among the graduates. As caps were flung high, Arya bolted from her seat and through the railing to find Gendry.

Attention unwavering as she dodged hugging bodies and camera driven families, her feet skidded to a stop in the grass of the football field when Gendry was just out of reach. A pang of guilt plucked at her lonely heart; he looked so happy, content really, with his other friends and she sensed that she didn't belong there. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and dropping her head so that no one saw her tears, Arya turned and retreated to find her family. Her breath caught when her elbow was grabbed by a warm, calloused hand and the girl wiped her eyes before turning.

"Hey," the towering boy greeted, blue eyes searching her face, making Arya feel wretched and insignificant at the same time.

"Hey," she replied, sniffing and putting on a brave smile just before being swallowed into a hug, her own blue graduation gown cocoon. Arya wrapped her arms around his waist when she felt his lips press into the top of her curls. They would be okay; it might be awkward for a while, but they would be okay and that is all that mattered to the relieved girl.

The towering boy trailed his redeemed friend towards her family and politely made his way through the introductions. From the corner of her eye, Arya could see the brooding, scarred man that stood on the fringes of the crowd…the one that kept Sansa's attention partially captivated and a rosy blush in her cheeks. Much to Arya's surprise, Catelyn invited Gendry to their home when she heard that he hadn't been able to get a ticket to Sober Grad. "A bit beyond my finances," he had nervously laughed.

When Sansa waved goodbye to her family, having changed into clothes for the Sober Grad party that departed from the school via bus, the ginger's bright blue eyes kept darting towards the parking lot. Arya caught sight of Sandor and elbowed Gendry before nodding her head in the man's direction. The younger sister wiggled her eyebrows and uncharacteristically hugged Sansa. "Tell Sandor hello," Arya whispered into her sister's ear. Sansa paled and then pasted on a civil smile before latching onto her friend's arm and retreating towards the gym. Sandor saluted the younger Stark girl with his middle finger when she discretely, yet mockingly, waved.

It was the best night Arya had ever had in the past year as Catelyn and Jeyne gladly toiled in the kitchen making snacks for the rowdy boys and contented girl who boisterously battled on video games. After Robb and Jeyne left for the evening, Catelyn told Gendry that he could use Robb's bedroom for the evening, as long as he called his foster parents to let them know, which he immediately did. Something tingled inside of Arya when Gendry hung up the phone, knowing he would be under the same roof that night. She shoved the thought far, far away, terrified of losing her best friend again. She would trade any feeling, any stupid, sweltering whatever-it-was to keep Gendry in her life.

Around midnight, Catelyn retired to her room after waking Rickon and pushing him up the stairs. Bran nodded off on the couch during a movie, sometime after two in the morning, leaving the best friends perched on opposite lounge chairs, staring at each other as the credits rolled. Arya put her fingers to her lips and motioned for the boy to follow, praying that he wouldn't trip and wake up the house as they made their way outside.

There was no moonlight, so the duo alternately giggled and shushed their way towards the gate by the light of their phone screens. Arya lay down on the grass, forcing the maddening notions of the boy's hands under her babblings about the constellations. "I'm sorry," she muttered after Orion and before proceeding to Cassiopeia to the boy lying next to her.

"Me too," Gendry sighed, his hand finding hers and lacing their fingers. There was something about the silence, the way he was breathing, that made Arya nervous, his hesitation apparent. "I'm leaving in a couple of weeks," he admitted. It was too dark to see his face, which made the girl grateful that he could not see the disappointment all over her own. He quietly plowed on, explaining that he had enlisted in the military, as it seemed the only viable option once he turned eighteen in ten days.

Arya propped herself up on one elbow. "But I don't want you to leave me." Fumbling forward, she ignored the mental shouts to stop and felt her way to Gendry's cheek before leaning down to kiss him the way that she had wanted to be kissed the first time, gently...longingly. In the darkness and awkward scrabbling, their kiss deepened and the ardent girl gladly wanted to drown in the burn from within. Arya thrust herself onto his chest and found her body pushed away by strong arms.

"Aaaahh. Not here," Gendry rasped, holding her tiny frame at arm's length while she struggled to climb closer. "Arya," he reasoned, breathing her name calmly, telling her to stop. His chest rumbled in laughter. "I can't believe I just said that." The boy stood and suggested that they go back to the house and sleep before offering a hushed explanation, "It's not that I don't want to…I just…I'm not going to screw this up again."

"You're stupid," she mumbled. In the end, they settled onto the opposite chairs in front of another movie. Gendry fell asleep quickly and Arya grinned when she heard him snore. The resolute girl decided that she wouldn't try that again, that kissing that seemed to consume her from the inside out, even though the thought hovered every time she looked at his relaxed body, slouched down in the chair.

Her phone vibrated from her pocket just as Arya had fallen asleep. Her annoyance evaporated once she read the message.

**Sleep, lovely girl. We have plans to make.**

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><p>AN: Thank you to those that have stopped by and posted reviews. This has been a blast to write and there are some fantastic turns ahead! ~JS

**Black Out Days - Phantogram**

**I Want You to Want Me - Letters to Cleo**


	11. Chapter 11

Had she not been so tired from staying up the entire night, traipsing outside, pawing and groping, then watching the oversized boy sleep in the lounge chair, Arya would have readily replied to the returned assassin. However, exhaustion had already set in and the girl's gray eyes sagged closed until she was startled awake by Rickon thundering down the stairs. Through the slits of her eyelids that refused to fully open, Arya could saw Gendry swivel his head to get his bearings while trying to open his own eyes wider, rolling them from side to top to try and focus. He gave her a nod of his head when he noticed her drowsy grin.

"Shut up, Rickon!" Bran uncharacteristically yelled towards the elephant-like younger brother that had entered the room and started incessantly chatting.

Catelyn called to her youngest son from the kitchen and the mopey boy retreated, leaving the older trio to try and pry open their eyes. Arya suggested breakfast to Gendry to allow Bran the privacy to get up from the couch in case he had slept through his need for his catheter during the night; a fact that she was used to but didn't want to have to explain to their guest, although the considerate sister was sure that Gendry would have been completely nonchalant about anything like that.

Bran joined them shortly and the group of kids plowed through the food Catelyn had made before she left to retrieve Sansa from the school. Arya sent a quick message to both Sansa and Sandor; the younger sister may not have been close with her ginger-haired sibling, but Arya at least afforded her the heads-up on the early arrival in case the two were…in a compromising situation. A grin tugged at the sleepy girl's lips. It would have been interesting to see Catelyn find her beloved daughter tangle of arms, legs and lips with a man sixteen years her senior.

"I gotta go back to sleep," she mumbled into her half-eaten pancakes. Next to her, Gendry hummed in agreement. "See ya," Arya croaked before climbing the stairs, realizing the mess that she looked like, not that anyone (especially Gendry) would care. Flopping face down onto her bed, the seventeen year old passed out in exhaustion.

Her neck ached terribly and Arya cursed herself for falling asleep in that position as she tried to massage out the stiffness. Her phone said that it was near noon and her body screamed for a shower. Hot water scalding her skin did nothing to relieve the tension in her neck muscles. She towel dried her hair, slipped into jeans and an old t-shirt of Jon's and headed out of her room. With a cursory glance at Robb's door before heading down the stairs, Arya saw that the door was open. Quiet as a shadow, she checked to see if Gendry was still there. Although not present, the girl imagined that he had slept similar to herself, the indentation in the pillow and on top of the comforter the only indication that he had been in the room at all.

Once downstairs, Arya was quickly brought up to speed by the ever-babbling Rickon that Gendry would be staying again for Sansa's party that night if the wet girl could just drive him home for a change of clothes. Her baby brother was talking hastily and Arya looked towards Bran and Gendry mashing the buttons of the controllers, engrossed in a video game. She begged Rickon to slow down, give her brain time to process just as the guys in front of the oversized television erupted into shouting, barking orders and then taunts at each other. Smashing her hands over her ears, Arya withdrew to the kitchen to find caffeine to abate both the budding headache and her sore neck.

Catelyn chatted on her cellphone from the stovetop, confirming with someone that they would be there later as she stirred something in a large pot that made Arya's stomach offer its opinion that it needed to try some. "Hey mom," Arya yawned when the busy woman had placed the phone onto the counter. "I heard that I need to run Gendry home to get clothes?" The loafing girl resisted the urge to uncap the soda and drink it straight from the bottle, opting to pour it into a glass with her mother within view.

Her mother concurred with Rickon's previous statements, albeit more slowly and with punctuation, and Arya soon found herself behind the wheel of her car, following Gendry's directions. Alternately rolling her head and massaging her neck when stop lights or traffic would allow, the girl froze when a large, warm hand replaced her own and kneaded the sore muscles. The taut girl refused to allow herself to think of it as anything other than a friend rubbing her neck; this was not the time to give into the gooey, melting feeling that rested just behind her lap belt. Arya was relieved when the "helpful" boy instructed her to pull over in front of a house in an older subdivision, practically jumping from her seat to let the ludicrous meanderings of her mind out of the suddenly constrictive interior of the BMW.

There was nothing special about the house that Gendry loped into; it was identical to the home two doors down but with a different paint scheme. The garage door was closed and two nondescript cars were in the driveway. Arya wondered what his foster parents were like before she resented them for having their foster "son" move out just after he turned eighteen, which in turn prompted an idea. She scrolled through her contacts and texted a number that she was required to answer if ever a message came from it.

**Mom, can we have a birthday party for Gendry?** The girl thought that her friend might appreciate a nice family (well, kind of, since it was her family) birthday party before heading off to boot camp. The thought of the dreary boot camp made her wonder how Jon was faring. Counting on her fingers, her absent brother could contact her in about two weeks, maybe three.

**Let me get through tonight and we can talk.**

Arya frowned and then thought of a suggestion. **I can plan it. It will be just us. I'll pay for it and clean up.** Surely her mother won't deny the plan after the last sentence.

**We will talk later.**

Any grumbling Arya would have had was forgotten when the front door of Gendry's house slammed closed and he jogged towards the car with his school backpack and a wide smile. "Let's go," he breathed, yanking the passenger door open. Though a smile was in place, the small girl knew that something was amiss, simmering just below the surface.

"Everything okay?" she asked once she had started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

"Yup." There was no further explanation as the hulking boy reached forward to cycle through the radio stations until finding a song he liked, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. Arya left the topic alone; no need to wake the raging bull inside the boy.

Once back at the Stark house, the pair was put to task by Catelyn, setting up chairs and rearranging furniture. Sansa had emerged at some point, glassy-eyed and red hair thrown into a messy bun. She pulled Arya aside and quietly asked, "Could you figure out an excuse that Sandor could be invited tonight? I mean, I want him to be here, especially with Joffrey coming." A chill from within raised goose bumps on Arya's arms at the mention of the almost-dead boy's name and she agreed, coercing Gendry into a cover story that they knew each other from baseball somehow.

Arya slipped upstairs to change out of her grungy t-shirt when a text pinged her phone. **Your debt will soon be repaid.** The previously fatigued girl had forgotten the initial text from the assassin and instantly felt remorse for not responding that morning.

**Do I need to do anything?** Suddenly, Arya didn't care about picking out a shirt that Gendry might like or if she should try and get away with perfume. As if her life were given a single point of reference, the girl fixated on the thing that she wanted the most – Joffrey's death. In it, she knew she would find resolution to her father's murder and the ability to close that horrific chapter of her young life.

**You will not even see me.** The girl's breath caught. Jaqen would be at her house and Joffrey would be…dead. It was finally happening. With little consideration, Arya grabbed a red shirt from a hanger and pulled it on, before finger combing her unruly curls and squirting her rarely used perfume on her wrists. "Go big or go home," the giddy girl whispered to her reflection after swiping on a stripe of bright red lipstick that happened to match her shirt. She looked at the tube and had no recollection of where it came from.

Trotting down the stairs, Arya first checked in with Catelyn (who commented on how nice her youngest daughter looked) to help set out hors d'oeuvres before finding Sansa and letting her in on the plan that Gendry had devised; Sandor helped at practice and was his batting coach. The former bodyguard knew the Starks through the Baratheons and wanted to wish her farewell before she left. Thin and shaky at best, the sisters agreed that the outlandish cover story would have to work in case anyone asked.

Friends and family trickled in slowly at first, then in a steady flow until the lower half of the large home bustled with people. Cersei and Joffrey swept in dramatically (as if there were any other way for them to enter), the mother smothering the stiffened graduate in over-acted air kisses and congratulations. Arya paused near the bottom of the stairs to watch, keenly interested in the golden boy's movements, from his smug smile to his arrogant speech about how he had graduated early since he was homeschooled. Her gray eyes tracked Joffrey's progress, his hesitation upon seeing Sandor over Sansa's shoulder, the touch of fear in the boy's haughty façade, as he trailed his self-important mother into the crowd.

"I miss him like a heart attack," a low voice rumbled at her shoulder, causing Arya's lips to turn upwards into a smile. Still, she kept her gaze on the target as Gendry continued, "You smell good."

The girl turned her head across her shoulders to glance up at the boy behind her. He had changed into a blue shirt that matched his eyes and Arya suddenly realized how long and dark his eyelashes were; they were positively hypnotic. Joffrey's hideous laugh fortuitously interrupted the train wreck of instant desire, pulling her stare back to the blonde as he chatted with Sansa's guests. She relished the thought of Joffrey's death and another unbidden smile graced her lips. "And lipstick too. Fancy," Gendry added.

Arya turned to face her best friend. She couldn't do this, give leeway to the thoughts…to anything! He was leaving in a week and he had made it clear that he had no intention of doing whatever it was that he didn't want to do. The way Gendry stared down at the dark-haired girl confused her, his eyes flicking back and forth between her own, as if he was warring with his decision as much as she was. "Yeah, well," Arya sighed nonchalantly, "I thought I'd give it a go, being fancy and all, just for Sansa. She likes that kinda stuff." Half-truths were certainly admissible and the young man before her didn't need to know that she wanted to smell good for him.

"Well…well, you look nice...like a real lady," Gendry stammered, trying to sound confident and earning a hard punch to his bicep.

"Shut up. I look stupid, but it's just this once." Her phone, which she didn't realize she had clutched so tightly in her hand, vibrated.

**You look lovely. Soon now…**

The hair stood up on the back of her neck as Arya shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans and searched for Joffrey in the crowd. "You okay?" Gendry asked, his hand finding the nape of her neck under the curtain of messy curls. "How's the neck?"

"It's fine," she snapped, interested in one thing only and it was not the feel of fingers dancing on the sensitive skin just above her shoulders. The crowd quieted as Catelyn was announced her congratulations to her oldest daughter, revealing Sansa's college plans and raising her glass to toast the graduate. Soon, friends rallied and added their fondest memories of the red-haired, blushing beauty, one after the other until Joffrey demanded attention. The panicked look on Sansa's face was obvious. Arya watched as Sandor pushed his way towards his rattled little bird, finally stopping just behind the trembling girl, the scarred man's fingers brushing Sansa's from behind.

"I've known Sansa since we were children," Joffrey began, holding his wine glass high in the air. Arya only wondered for half a moment where he got the wine from until she realized that she didn't care. Joffrey rambled on about their childhood, making sure to punctate his story with embarrassing moments from Sansa's life, Cersei tittering at every opportune moment like an obsessed fangirl. "I know that Sansa was there the day her father died," the golden boy continued.

Arya held her breath and then muttered a curse under her breath as the tears sprang to her eyes. How dare he bring up their father! She silently begged him to die right then.

"It was after that tragic event that I took over the family business…" Joffrey stopped his bluster with a short cough that he tried to abate with a sip of wine. He looked as if he were going to start the monologue again when a fit of coughing began. Arya watched as Cersei asked her son if he was alright and then started screeching for someone to call 9-1-1 because her boy was choking.

Chaos erupted when Joffrey collapsed to the floor. Arya climbed the stairs to get a better view, hearing Gendry talking but not listening to a word he said, her attention fully riveted to the boy that had started flailing his arms and legs while his face altered from red to maroon to purple. His mother screamed for someone to start CPR, yet no one moved. Someone yelled that an ambulance was on the way, but Arya knew it would do no good.

Jaqen had fulfilled his promise and had the assassin been near the lovely girl, she would've thrown her arms around him in gratitude. He had given her the gift of a public execution and it was more remarkable than Ned Stark's dark-haired daughter could have ever dreamed.

From across the room, something caught Arya's peripheral vision. Sandor had moved to stand directly behind Sansa as the red-head watched, horrified, when Joffrey's lurching body stilled. The girls' eyes met over the pandemonium and Arya swore she heard her sister breathe a sigh of relief.

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><p><strong>"Voices" album by Phantogram<br>**


	12. Chapter 12

***Danger Will Robinson, danger! Slight sissy-swearing in this chapter. None of that f-bombdigity stuff, just deemed it necessary for this chapter. ~JS ***

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><p><strong>You found your proof.<strong> She knew that the assassin wouldn't have acted unless he was sure the girl's hunch was correct. Arya sat on the floor of Robb's room with Gendry, watching some mindless show geared towards teenagers where the actresses always seemed to have the perfect balance of mud, makeup and cleavage. The boy that seemed engrossed at the predictable explosion on the screen laughed at something that was said and bumped his leg against the girl's. At that moment, had Jon walked into the house, Arya's world would have been perfect.

**Without doubt, yes. **

Mayhew ensued after Joffrey stopped breathing, mainly propelled by his mother. From her staircase perch, Arya watched Robb and Catelyn gather their guests and move them outside. She hadn't realized it, but Gendry had moved directly behind the spellbound girl, his body pressed into hers to watch the party-goers flee as Cersei wailed as loudly as the approaching sirens. Arya watched as Sansa finally tore her mortified stare from the golden pair of Baratheons and turned her face into the large chest behind her. Sandor's eyes briefly flicked up to the younger Stark daughter, his good eyebrow cocked up (in satisfaction?), before he shepherded the red-head away from the scene.

Catelyn saw her youngest daughter on the stairs. "Gendry, take Arya upstairs," her mother pled. The strong boy's hands grasped either of the girl's shoulders and turned her towards the top of the staircase. "Go!" Catelyn emphasized as the siren sounded in the driveway. Gendry pushed the resistant daughter from behind up the remaining stairs before steering her small body into Robb's bedroom and closing the door.

Thus, the satisfied girl sat wedged into Gendry's side on the carpeted floor. He had withdrawn his previously draped arm from around her shoulders after being assured several times that she was fine and okay. Annoyed, Arya had reiterated that she had, in fact, seen her dad die, a detail that seemed to chase the overprotective boy's attention to the television show.

Gendry became a near permanent resident in the Stark house following Joffrey's death, ruled natural due to a massive bleed from a brain aneurysm by the coroner. Sansa became engrossed in packing and preparing to move while Gendry became occupied with absorbing as much time with the Starks as possible. He accompanied the family to the funeral the following week, stoically trying to keep Arya in line as she fought back her glee at the Joffrey's expiration.

The girl secretly congratulated herself on dismissing the feverish implosions she seemed to be infected with when they happened to be alone on a few occasions, which she tried to keep to a minimum. With Gendry around and Joffrey dead, Arya felt no need to reach out to the assassin and Jaqen had not texted or snuck into her closet, so the girl assumed he had moved on, debt repaid. This left ample time for Arya to incessantly reminded Gendry of his impending birthday party.

Nothing fancy for the party, cake, ice cream and gift cards since he was boot camp bound the next day, and Gendry declared that it was the best birthday that he had ever had in eighteen years. Arya had already arranged a surprise for the young man and cleared it through her mom. She had sworn that there would be nothing inappropriate, no shenanigans, and assured her suspicious mother that it was simply a friendship…Gendry was kinda like another brother (except that her brothers never made her insides turn inside out with a lop-sided grin).

"Let's go!" Arya said once she had pulled him outside of the back door after the party and the sun had just disappeared to the west, hiking through the wooded area behind the Stark home. The wheels in her head were turning and she was certain that Gendry wouldn't oppose her idea as the excited girl practically skipped ahead of the birthday boy into the forest to the area she had already visited earlier in the day.

"Where are we going?" he laughed, staying close to his friend, flashlight careening in the unfamiliar terrain.

"On one last adventure," she tossed over her shoulder. Finally entering the clearing she sought, Arya turned with a flourish and announced, "Wa-la!" She stood aside to reveal a small cooler next to a blanket spread out on the dried grass. "Best star viewing spot, ever. My dad used to bring us out here in the summer with our sleeping bags for summer camp-outs. He'd show us the satellites and the constellations."

"I've never seen a satellite." Gendry's revelation shocked the girl who had just unceremoniously plopped onto the blanket and now gawked at the boy in the dwindling daylight.

She patted the blanket next to her, "Well sit yourself down. I have soda with caffeine so that we can stay awake all night!" To prove her point, she propped up the cooler lid and produced cans of soda for each of them as the large boy straightened out next to her on the blanket.

"You say this to all the boys you bring out here?" he sarcastically probed, switching off his flashlight.

Strangely, her answer caught in her throat until Arya figured out the reason and had to swallow past the lump to respond. "I've never brought anyone out here…it was always me and my dad before." She was grateful that he didn't offer and apology; he seemed to understand that she didn't want to open that Pandora's box. As if to shift the mood, Gendry popped open the top of his soda, disbelievingly downing the soda in three consecutive swigs and ripped a belch that echoed off of the trees. "You're disgusting!" Arya shrieked.

"Pretty much," he admitted, lying down. Arya groped in the dark next to her before finding the extra blanket and chucking it towards her friend, explaining that it would get cold just lying still and watching stars. She toyed with the notion of cuddling close to his side for warmth, like side did with her father, before settling down a few inches away instead. The experienced girl explained how to keep your eyes focused in the straight ahead until there was movement in the sky.

"There!" Gendry whispered, enthusiastically pointing into the vast sky, Arya easily tracking the progress.

"Congratulations, you have a satellite," she scoffed but inwardly rejoiced at his expression, so innocent and genuine. Arya wished her dad could've met the boy to her left and was certain that Ned was somewhere up there, chuckling at Gendry's reaction.

Somewhere between explaining that the Big Dipper was actually a bear and that she believed that Ptolemy and his buddies must've been drinking when they created the first astronomy charts, Arya had somehow scooched her body into Gendry's side. Instead of drawing attention to the obvious fact, the amateur astronomer set about challenging her companion to counting satellites and shooting stars (which were just things burning up in the atmosphere, the girl clarified).

Arya had lost count when her eyelids got heavy and after one particularly long blink, the girl woke up on her side, curled up into Gendry's muscular chest, his right arm as her pillow and the left low on her waist. Groggily, she grabbed a handful of his shirt and inhaled; she would miss Gendry and rued that she would not have the opportunity to kiss him for a long time…or ever again if he met someone else! The blip of that realization made Arya tip her head up towards his stubbly chin and her movement caused the boy to rouse. "You okay?" he rasped, his lips coming to rest on her forehead.

"I wish you weren't going," she sighed into the hollow of his throat before inching forward to kiss the sensitive skin there. Gendry groaned and his arms tightened around the small girl which she took as a sign to continue, launching into kisses upwards on a path to his lips.

"Arya," he breathed, her name sounding like a warning but his body welcoming the advances. "Oh gods, you gotta stop…" His enunciation was stuck between a command and a question until his body shuttered and his legs propelled the blanket off.

"Gendry," the enraptured girl begged, hands now employed and one finding the skin under the hem of his shirt. The touch ignited the wanton need for more in Arya but seemingly repulsed Gendry, as his entire being scrambled away from her. She could barely see him standing up from the light of the crescent moon, but she heard his erratic breathing. "Did I…did I do that wrong?" she squeaked out, embarrassed the moment the words passed her lips.

He dropped to his knees just out of her reach and she could barely make out Gendry rubbing his hands through his hair. "No, you didn't," he whispered, as if it hurt him to admit the fact. "But I am leaving tomorrow and…"

"All the more reason…" Arya started, on her knees and scooting towards him in the darkness, her hands coming to rest on his knees.

"You don't understand," Gendry exhaled, sounding exasperated. "You have your family…" he trailed off, sounding even more frustrated.

"You're right, I don't understand." Had the boy, who was inches from her face been able to see her, he would've seen the confusion. Arya couldn't even begin to figure out what her family had to do with any of this.

Even in the dim moonlight, Gendry found her face and placed his massive hands on Arya's cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed her, so very gently, then pulled back and rested their foreheads against one another. "I'm glad it's dark so that I don't have to see you when I say this…but I won't do this with you here…tonight. It's not right."

"What do you mean, it's not right?" the small girl demanded, rearing back onto her heels from her knees.

A low curse came out from the boy's lips. "If something happened, if you got pregnant…I'd wanna kill myself."

In a flash, Arya was on her feet, hurling obscenities at him. "Hey, if I'm not good enough for you, no big deal. At least have the balls to say it, Gendry." Rage made her voice shake and fists clench at her side.

"That's not it, Arya." Suddenly, he was directly in front of her, standing over her in the dark night. "You grew up with family. I didn't. I know what it's like to not have a dad. I won't do that to you. I'll be gone and you still have to finish school."

"Gods damn chivalry is pretty convenient." Anger tore through Arya, turning the desire that had just coursed through her veins into bitterness, her heart to iron. Mentally, she condemned Gendry to the hottest parts of the seven hells.

"If you call a moment of responsibility chivalrous, then I'm guilty, but I would never do that to you because you deserve better than what I can give, which currently is nothing." Arya could just imagine his big, stupid blue eyes looking at her, begging her to understand, which she had no intention of doing. The irate girl grabbed her flashlight and cooler and started back towards the house, glad that he couldn't see the tears that she swiped at. Not far behind her, Gendry had found his own flashlight and trailed Arya to the house, occasionally tripping.

Arya continued to her own room and shut the door quietly, even though she wanted to slam it for effect. She shed her clothing and pulled on an old t-shirt before crawling into her own bed. Her overactive mind taunted her that had she been as beautiful as Sansa, Gendry would have never rejected her, no matter the reason.

The distraught girl was awake when Catelyn entered late the next morning and sat on the edge of the bed. "Arya, I'm taking Gendry home so that his foster parents can take him to the drop off," she spoke softly, stroking her daughter's unruly, dark curls. Arya kept her eyes closed but couldn't stop the tears and runny nose. "You should go," her mother urged, continuing to push the hair back. "You're his best friend."

"No thank you," the girl whispered, suddenly reverting to her manners.

"Okay, then," Catelyn sighed and stood. "Make sure, Arya. You don't want to live in regrets. Live with passion or not at all." Her mother gently closed the door and her father's words, echoed in her mother's voice, rattled in her head as Arya lay still, listening to the footfalls around the house, then the car starting and driving away. Without thought, she jumped from her bed and watched the van leave down the long driveway.

When her phone vibrated, Arya saw that the text was from Gendry but refused to open it. She didn't want to see him off, to give him the pleasure of knowing that she understood what he was saying; his unorthodox methods had earned him the short trip to the palace of the ice queen, cold and unforgiving. It wasn't until she had retreated back to her bed and later heard the back door slam after Rickon began yelling downstairs that Arya retrieved her phone to look at the message.

**I have never loved anyone like I love you.** Her eyes scanned it again and then once more before Arya's body was in motion, flying down the stairs and driving her car faster than she knew was safe.

The BMW tore into the parking lot and Arya parked in the closest handicapped spot, not caring one iota if her car was towed or ticketed. The frantic girl sprinted through the parking lot and shoved her way through the crowd, pleading for them to move. "Gendry!" she yelled at open windows of the bus that had young men and women waving to their loved ones, heedless of the people that stared at her panicked antics. "Gendry!" Arya shouted, dread setting in as she failed to see the familiar blue eyes peering from the windows.

"Arya!" She heard his muffled call from inside the transport and ran to the opposite side of the bus. Instantly relieved when his face appeared in an open window, the girl was moved to tears when Gendry pushed his arm out of the opening and just low enough for her to latch onto.

"I'm sorry," Arya hiccupped, pressing his fingertips to her forehead.

"I know," he spoke loudly, over the other recruits. "You always are sorry. But I always forgive you." His words pierced Arya's heart with their truth; Gendry had it wrong because he was the one that was far too good for her wretched little soul. "Don't get into too much trouble when I'm gone. I won't be here to bail you out," Gendry teased, straining to brush some hair from her forehead.

"I don't need you to bail me out!" she automatically protested.

"I know, but I like to think that you need me to…sometimes." In the depths of the bus, a loud command was shouted and Gendry jerked his hand back inside. He glanced towards the front of the bus and then back out at the girl who seemed to be pleading at him to stay with her gray eyes. Arya pulled up her chin and then stretched to her tip toes as Gendry sat down in the seat, eye averted to the man who barked orders from inside of the transport. The bus engine roared to life and lurched forward, removing Gendry Waters from Arya Stark's life…and her existence already seemed more miserable for it.

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><p><strong>Happy – Pharrell (who isn't happy that Joffrey died?!)<strong>

**The One That Got Away – The Civil Wars**

Okay all you people thinking, "Wait…did Jaqen just disappear?" Yes, he did. He's an assassin and does that kinda thing. Be patient, very patient…plots twists and turns ahead! ~JS


	13. Chapter 13

As if he was expected, the deflated girl's phone displayed a message from the absent assassin just as she slid into her car after Gendry's bus disappeared. **Coffee?** Arya squinted at the text trying to figure out if Jaqen was genuine in his request. It was if he was toying with her; like Ceolwen playing with a mouse, letting it go and then trapping it by the tail again. She had to admit to herself that she did particularly enjoy the unfathomable man's approach and agreed to meet him at a coffee shop near his hotel.

When Arya pulled into the parking lot, the handsome man sat outside, dark sunglasses peering over the top of his paper cup, watching the girl until she approached. His dark eyebrow tilted ever so slightly when Arya plunked her small body down and swiped his drink. Mimicking his movement, the cocky girl raised her eyebrow and took a drink from the assassin's cup, coughing after she swallowed. "Gah! Black coffee," she gagged, wrinkling her nose.

"More courage than sense," he murmured after regaining possession of his beverage.

"To what do I owe the privilege of this visit," Arya sighed, stretching out in the sunshine. "I thought you were long gone by now. You never texted or called," she yawned, slinking down into the metal chair so that her head rested on the back of the chair, eyelids closed against the blinding sunlight.

"You seemed otherwise preoccupied," he flippantly mentioned.

Arya refused to dignify the taunt. "Where are you off to on your assassinating tour?" She tipped her head forward and watched as the man toyed with the toothpick that she had failed to notice before. The small wooden piece bounced in the corner of his mouth while the hand on his coffee remained perfectly still. His lack of response, of course, annoyed Arya. "I understand, it is top secret stuff and you can't tell me or you'd have to kill me, right?"

Still, Jaqen remained silent and relatively motionless. Arya was certain that behind the tinted lenses, his eyes (mesmerizing as they were) bored into the girl, although she was clueless as to why. Had she angered him? Was he mad about Gendry?

"I never said thank you," she offered in a small voice. "I really mean it, Jaqen, thank you." Arya had straightened her petite body and leaned towards the killer.

"Just so," he replied equally as quiet. "I find myself with an opportunity to fulfill yet another promise, if you should still wish it." When her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, Jaqen continued his explanation, "Do you have your knife on you?"

His question sparked remembrance and Arya unabashedly reached into her bra and then proudly displayed the small blade in her palm. She was embarrassed to admit that her shoddy attempt at a calf holster had fallen apart. "I'm not up to one hundred yet, but I can do sixty-seven sit-ups and fifty push-ups," the girl proudly disclosed.

Jaqen smiled his approved, toothpick tipping upwards with his grin. "It is a start." He eyeballed the pocket knife Jon had given her, then offered her his own to train with.

"No," she replied, looking at her own blade with sadness. "This one means more to me than all of my possessions."

"It is merely bigger than a needle," the assassin observed.

"Just so," Arya mimicked with a grin. She popped up and offered to buy him another coffee, which Jaqen declined. When she returned, her companion looked as if he hadn't moved an inch until he suggested that they go for a drive. The dutiful daughter sent off a message to her mom that she was with a friend and would be home by dark, priding herself on the fact that the text was completely factual.

Following her passenger's instructions, Arya drove to a remote, wooded area and debated whether it anyone would find her body (and knowing full well that no one would, if that is was the intentions of the assassin). Jaqen explained that she would need to keep her knife sharpened at all times, first and foremost.

Arya had never felt so simultaneously overwhelmed and insatiable for knowledge as the foreigner spoke about blades, their weight and complete versatility. Every explanation provided from the patient man sprouted a question or demand for practice. Jaqen demonstrated a particular throw and when his pupil could not master it, pressed his body flush against her own from behind to mimic the movement. While the master effortlessly shifted and adjusted, the seventeen year old found her mind wandering from the lesson and to way his body intimately touched her, which, in turn, caused her to ask for a break to try control her blush that had steadily blossomed. Arya mentally chastised herself for being as bad as the superficial girls at her school that seemed to be permanently in heat, moving from one boy to the next.

"Are you alright?" Jaqen asked, genuinely concerned for his student's wellbeing, sliding his strong hand along the inside of Arya's elbow. Her eyes watched, fascinated, as her instructor looked at her face, trying to figure out where her thoughts had raced off.

Clearing her throat, Arya answered, "Just needed a breather. I have some water in my car." The flustered girl was never more grateful to have listened to her father about keeping spare water in the car while retrieving the two spare bottles that were stowed with the spare tire. The walk to the BMW seemed to be the trick to shut down the exquisite burning in her belly. Jaqen lifted his chin in appreciation when she tossed him one of the bottles.

From the corner of her peripheral vision, as she feigned a sip of water, Arya saw Jaqen shed his leather jacket and haphazardly deposit it on the hood of her car. She tried not to openly stare as the hem of his t-shirt hitched up, revealing a tantalizing slip of muscled stomach. The clever girl knew that she had been discovered when the corner of the assassin's mouth turned into a smirk, even though he kept his eyes averted. A scoff escaped her lips when she realized that he had done it on purpose, to distract her.

"Even simple things can be used to your advantage," came the offhand, accented explanation. His insight shamed Arya, having been caught, and she felt the blush reignite in her cheeks. Turning, the teacher slightly squinted before enhancing his statement, his eyes holding her stare. "There are small windows that you will learn to exploit. The less you have to use a weapon, the less attention you will bring to yourself. You need to become a shadow, a phantom." Arya hadn't even realized that the assassin stood within reach until he stopped speaking. "Did you see me with Joffrey?"

"No." She hadn't even seen him in the house and only knew he was there by the text message he had sent.

"An apparition," Jaqen mumbled quietly, his eyes switching back and forth between her own. Arya cursed her own stupid, stupid wandering mind that wanted her teacher to stand behind her, again, to demonstrate the throwing technique.

Suddenly, Arya reasoned that males, in general, were dumb. Jaqen, all mysterious and sexy (wait, what?) and Gendry was good-looking and kissable; the girl was tormented by hormones gone awry, she reasoned. She threw her water to the ground with much more force than necessary and it earned her a chuckle. "Well, ghost, let's get on with this training," she responded, exasperated at her own stupidity and Jaqen's…whatever it was. Men were a distraction! A lovely, frustrating, happy-to-drown-in distraction.

Caitlyn, although initially suspicious of the time Arya was spending with her "friends," became increasingly occupied with Sansa's move, allowing Arya a buffer of free time with Jaqen as the summer days progressed. Arya knew Bran was skeptical of his sister's excuses, yet he remained silent on the matter. Sansa's departure wrought their mother into a machine of occupation, Caitlyn throwing herself into volunteer activities at their church, the hospital and local community center; her youngest daughter thought the distractions helped her mother avoid the gaping hole of loss.

Days had turned to weeks and Arya proudly crowed that she had made her one hundred mark for both sit-ups and push-ups one afternoon. She sipped on the iced coffee and realized that Jaqen hadn't uttered a word since they had arrived at the coffee shop in tandem; he merely scrutinized and listened to his pupil. They had been meeting nearly every day for knife work and basic hand to hand defensive moves, discussing the art of disguise for deception and completely avoiding any unnecessary close body contact.

"I must leave."

His words knocked the wind out of her. "Why?" she demanded, like an angry three year old.

"I have no choice. There are other duties I must attend to. I have tarried here far too long and disobeyed orders, selfishly. You are no longer my concern." The assassin's voice was cold and calculating, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Jaqen was abandoning her, too. Although she knew it would happen eventually, it didn't lessen the pain or feeling of betrayal that gripped her young heart. Arya muttered a line of curses, eyes filling with tears. "You are a bastard." She could barely restrain herself from flinging the coffee. Yes, he was leaving, just like everyone else she had cared for, but he was choosing to go and that hurt even worse.

Jaqen appeared composed. "Maybe, maybe not. I promise that we will meet again, although you may hate me the next time you see me." His voice grew low and terse.

The distraught girl shook her head back and forth, curls loosening from her ponytail. "No, I won't! I never could hate you after what you've done for me," she gasped.

"Never tempt the future with promises you cannot keep." The assassin stood and hesitated. Recovering from his apparent doubt, Jaqen pulled his motorcycle keys from his leather jacket pocket and pulled on his helmet. The engine roared to life once he had strattled the seat and fastened the chin strap, gazing at the girl who bit her lip for dear life to keep the tears from falling.

She refused to wave, to defiantly lift her chin, to look away as the man who granted her freedom from Joffrey and taught her to defend herself pulled from the parking lot. His was the next departure in the long list of absent people in her life: her father, Jon, Gendry, even Sansa. Even when Arya tried to tell herself that Jaqen's exodus was good riddance, she couldn't believe her own lie. Stubborn to the core, the lonely girl was determined to continue pushing herself to train.

Endless summer hours, Arya stalked unsuspecting victims at the mall and worked up the courage to pickpocket when she realized how gullible most targets were. Switching tactics, the amateur criminal would innocently bat her eyelashes at a mall security guard and mention how she found the wallet and just wanted to turn it in, working at getting a phone number from the equally beguiled guard. Free sessions at make-up counters allowed the mischievous girl to entirely change her looks, morphing from a highly primped princess to goth in a day's time. Arya happily succeeded in having a conversation with the same clerk several times without the naïve employee knowing anything was amiss.

Somewhere along the time, Arya finally stopped looking at her phone for messages. None ever came; not from Jon, not from Gendry and certainly not from Jaqen.

The girl drove to the nearby woods, the same ones that she had met a mysterious assassin in, and parked down the nearby turn off to the "only used by serious hikers" trailhead one morning, a few days after Caitlyn and Robb had left for her cousin's wedding. There were no other cars around, so Arya chose to stay close to her BMW, feeling a bit creeped out by the late summer morning fog. First, she practiced grabbing out her pocket knife from her newly improved ankle sheath. When she was comfortable with that, the constantly-checking-the-parking-lot girl flung the knife at a nearby tree until she figured out the balance to make it stick into the slick bark. "I'm such a rebel," Arya laughed to herself, retrieving the blade.

Her cell phone rang from her pocket; it was Bran and he texted but never called.

"What's up, wheelio?" Arya balanced the blade in her hand and recoiled her arm to throw it.

"I need you to come home," her younger brother choked out, obviously upset. Arya knew something terrible had happened; her heart knew it even before she hung up the phone.

"I'm coming," she breathed before slapping the blade closed. Driving entirely too fast, the car fishtailed twice before she made it to the driveway. Bran was outside of the back door and stared at his sister when she shut off the car. The girl reasoned that if she didn't leave the car, everything would be okay. And Bran did too, so they stared in a stalemate. Osha suddenly appeared from behind her brother and placed her had on Bran's shoulder. Arya couldn't stop the tears once Bran's Adam's apple bobbed up and then down. She didn't want to know, so she shook her head back and forth telling him to not say it…begging him silently not to say what she instinctively knew.

Catelyn and Robb were dead.

* * *

><p><strong>When I Ruled the World – Coldplay<strong>

**Nothing's Impossible – Depeche Mode**

_Thanks for sticking around for this "it-took-too-long-to-update." Life. It happens. But…if you are patient, Chapter 13 wraps up the first section of my three-part story. This lil' blurb has taken on a life of its own and Chapter 14 will progress Arya's AU life into something…well, you'll just have to wait and see. ~ JS_


	14. Chapter 14

There were voices and people always talking while Arya's mind floated away from her body. She was in the forest, throwing her knife into a tree, cuddled into Gendry's side and looking at the stars, perched on a stool and watching her father work in the garage. Sometimes, someone would hold her hand or place their hand on her shoulder and still her mind wandered to the rides in Jon's convertible with her hair whipping her cheeks, Robb pinning his youngest sister to the carpet and tickling her until she cried for mercy and the endless depth of her mother's blue eyes.

Rickon slept in Arya's bed, curled up into her side, at night. Osha became a permanent fixture, the only comforting stranger that Arya chose to interact with on a regular basis. Completely unassuming, Bran's physical therapist became the caretaker to the remaining Stark children. Arya made the unfortunate phone call to Sansa the night of the accident and reassured her older sister that it was okay to return to school after the funeral…no, the funerals. The younger girl had tried to figure out what kept her sister away, how Sansa could basically abandon her and the boys, but then reasoned that they had Osha to help and Sansa probably needed to be far away from everything that the redhead thought was dreadful. At least the now eldest Stark had Sandor; Arya had no one and felt herself slipping into the thought of becoming no one to everyone.

The flicker of hope that Jon would be able to return, even for a day for the funerals, was met with a cold and concise denial from the local enlistment officer after he had viewed Jon's records and scoffed that personnel were only released for a death of an immediate family member. "But Robb was his brother," Arya seethed at the heartless man, her brain momentarily contemplating the little needle at her ankle.

"Not according to our paperwork and our paperwork is official," the callous officer replied. When Arya questioned what he meant, the man reiterated that the paperwork did not list either Robb or Caitlyn as immediate family members, therefore, Jon could not be granted leave.

"I have no one," she choked out, before she could stop herself. Surely, he could see from the computer file that their father was also dead.

Uncaring eyes turned sympathetic towards the gray-eyed teenager. "I am truly sorry for your loss, but I can't do anything for you. I can't even tell you, legally, that he is stationed where they have a communications black out at this time, that he is okay and cannot find out this news for another two months." Arya listened and accepted the tissue the officer extended, grateful for the information that the officer dared protocol to breach. Although she left the office knowing Jon would not be coming home, the thankful girl was content to know that he was alright, wherever he was stationed. That tidbit of knowledge kept the blackness of her soul at bay.

Arya had never known her grandparents, who had died long before she was born, along with her Aunt Lyanna. Three days after the crash that claimed her nephew and sister, Lysa arrived, dragging her sickly son, Robert, behind her wherever she went. What few relatives were alive hadn't been to the Stark house in years, other than for Ned's funeral, so when her mother's sister arrived, weeping with "heart palpitations," Arya immediately wished to be left alone again. Rickon clung to his sister's arm and locked himself in her room after their aunt chastised him for not playing with his cousin, something that did not endear the older intruder to the young wolf. It was easy to be no one to Lysa and Robert, distant and removed.

In fact, Arya found it so convenient to be no one that she rather preferred it. She would stare off into the distance as someone spoke about funeral details, hearing the words and not feeling the weight of them. The further the girl slipped into apathy, the less pain ruled her decisions and thoughts. But at night, as Rickon pushed himself into her ribcage and she rested her arm across his growing shoulders, Arya realized how truly deserted she felt and the chasm of loneliness, with its loving arms of forgetfulness and solitude, beckoned the tortured girl.

Dressed in the same skirt she had used less than a year before, Arya shielded her emotions from even Bran at their mother's and brother's funeral. Sansa arrived unaccompanied with red-rimmed eyes, murmuring her apologies for not being able to come to the house and that her plane left later that evening. Although Sansa held Arya's hand in a vice grip, there was no one to hold support her shoulders like Jon had done; no one to tell her that she was loved, the way her mother had after Ned had been lowered into the ground. Lovely Jeyne sat next to Sansa, sobbing into her handkerchief.

Without consideration, the dark-haired Stark girl left the funeral service while her body remained. She knew the merits of her mothers and Robb and didn't need to hear them repeated; instead, she floated through her memories of them, searching for her favorites. A slight smile pulled at her lips when she remembered Ned and Jon supporting a boisterously plastered Robb between them, shushing the intoxicated teenager to no avail as Robb launched into a drunken version of "I Wanna Know What Love Is," at two in the morning, rousing the entire house. Caitlyn had far fewer delightful memories, as the relationship between her and Jon had always strained the rapport between her and her youngest daughter. By the time the distracted girl sifted through recollections of her mother, Arya was forced back to the church pew as Sansa squeezed her hand.

True to her word, the ginger haired sister vanished after the services and the lone female Stark found that she wasn't even upset about it. In fact, Arya felt very little other than bothered by the concerned friends and distant family members continually asking who was going to take care of them? Who was their legal guardian? Where was Sansa and why wasn't she coming home? Osha, much to Arya's relief, stepped in to answer the invasive questions, keeping Lysa's interactions with her niece and nephews to a minimum.

Her fingers itched to fling the blade at her calf over and over into the nearby pew or wall, or occasionally into the eye socket of a particularly annoying "friend of the family." Instead, Arya retreated into her mind, repeating the lessons her absent assassin had taught her. With a smirk, the gray eyed wolf turned the entire situation into a deduction game, taking in the details of nearby persons; the white cat hair on a pant leg, the nervous finger flicking someone who claimed to have stopped smoking, a ventured glance between Bran and a young girl from school followed by their shy smiles. Moira? Mary? No, Meera.

The smell caught Arya off guard and her heart quickened its pace, frantically galloping at the scent of cloves. Forcing herself to appear calm, the wolf girl casually twisted and strained to get a look around the church as the crowds departed. Clutching her phone in her hand, as if willing a text message to vibrate, Arya felt her nervousness melt into disappointment as the aroma lessened. Surely, had he been there, Jaqen would have let her know, yet she could see no sign of the mysterious man that had left months before.

A few days later, the remaining Stark daughter sat next to her highly irritated aunt who launched into a tirade at the lawyer, claiming that there was no possible way that her sister would have left charge of the children to "hired help;" Lysa's emphasis on Osha's occupation was not missed by anyone. The lawyer reread the entire will over and was as relieved as the recently appointed legal guardian and her wards when Lysa screeched a last protest and swore that she would never return.

"Good riddance," Arya murmured, concentrating on passing her small knife between her fingers. Osha cast a sideway glance at the unemotional girl as the lawyer snapped his briefcase shut but said nothing.

Lysa's departure left a golden silence in the house. Meera bicycled over nearly every day for the last fleeting weeks before school started and Arya was glad that Bran had the company because she didn't even feel like being a friend to her brothers, let alone hanging out with them. Rickon learned quickly not to test his sister's patience, he more often than not would change his direction if it meant having to interact with the withdrawn sibling. The youngest boy had even returned to sleeping in his bedroom at night after the services.

Arya, for her part, spent the last days before her senior year practicing with her knife until Jeyne called her to come remove Robb's gun one afternoon. The weight of the metal in her small hand brought a sense of peace to Arya, like Robb was there with her. Disappearing far into the wooded area behind their house, the hollow-feeling girl emptied the clip into an innocent tree, pulling the trigger time and time again. When she returned to the house, she handed over the gun to Osha with tears in her eyes.

There was nothing acceptable to Arya when she started her senior year. What was supposed to be her best year of school was entirely depraved; she had no best friend, no parents; only massive gaping holes in her young life where there should have been contentment. There wasn't much to hold the attention of the bored and uninterested girl and her grades continually borderlined failure. Arya's flippant attitude and hot temper landed her in the principal's office, earning Osha's reprimands.

As her soul faded into nothing, into becoming no one at all, Arya found herself caring less. More than anything she wanted Jon and had no way to get ahold of him. She knew that if they were together, that it would all be fine, that they could face it together. The little sister would call him stupid and her brother would ruffle her hair and the abyss that seemed to swallow her spirit would close. And Arya found that since she couldn't be with Jon that she preferred the darkness that permeated her mindset…it was far easier to feel nothing than the ache.

Leniency ended just after the rebellious girl turned eighteen. An offhand remark by the recently crowned prom queen directed at Arya ended with said prom queen receiving a broken nose. Methodically, Arya inspected her hand while seated in the blue, hard plastic chair in the office, knowing that Osha had been called. Principal Bronn had lectured the violent teenager, pointing out her offenses over the school year. The indignant girl flexed her sore hand, trying to ascertain if there were any broken bones, effectively ignoring the man that switched tactics and tried to appeal to the girl's softness by mentioning her losses. At the mention of her father, Arya met the principal's stare, feeling the anger kindle in her belly. "You have no idea what I've been through," she growled lowly, holding the older man's gaze until he faltered and looked away.

Followed home by her legal guardian after being expelled and subsequently enrolled in the continuation school so that she would graduate, Arya sat quietly at the kitchen counter while Osha alternately yelled and sighed in frustration; there was a sense of appreciation that the girl had for her caretaker letting it all out instead of calculating a response like her mother had been known for.

Dismissed to her room, Arya sat in the darkness. She didn't want to be home any more. The blackness that saturated her life cried out for her to leave the memories and she fought the wave of flight. Arya knew she needed to stay for Bran; she needed to claw her way out of this hole and be the young woman her father had knew she could be. Yet, the ease and familiarity of nothing coaxed the girl to complacency.

If only she could forget.

She knew the trick, had seen the effects on others, yet, never had a go at the bottle. Long past midnight, the struggling daughter made her way to her father's liquor cabinet. "Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker," she whispered, grabbing her father's bottle of whiskey and heading out the back door to her father's garage. Arya gagged with every swig she swallowed and found that she really didn't care about the burning after the fifth or sixth pull. All that mattered is that the weight of loss fled farther with every drink.

Arya found that there was no reasoning with her intoxicated mind and found her lithe body swaying in the driveway, arms full of clothing that she had toted down from her room. Dropping the shirts and pants into a mound, the confused girl saw the back door of the house open and ran to the garage before she could be stopped. Suddenly, she was dousing the clothing with lighter fluid and throwing a match onto the pile of clothes. Bran's horrified face lit up from the flames and Arya hated herself for disappointing him too.

Nearly blinded by angry tears, the girl ignored her brother's fists pounding on the car window, his muffled pleas for her to stop and spun the tires in the gravel in her haste to escape the feeling that there was nothing in the world she could do to please anyone, to keep someone she loved alive. Arya told herself that she just needed to drive and get fresh air, as her inner voice cheered her to drive faster and farther.

…

White.

White ceiling, white walls, intense white lights high on the ceiling. Arya could feel the whiteness even when she closed her eyes again to deal with the lethargic feeling. She tried to raise her arm to drape across her eyes to block out some of the brightness, only to feel both wrists bound to whatever she was on. Panicked, her gray eyes snapped open to confirm that not only her wrists, but her feet were trapped as well. She uttered a curse while tugging on the straps.

"You father would disapprove."

Arya's breath caught at the voice near her head. "Where am I?" she croaked, refusing to look into the bronze eyes that were surely staring at the top of her head. Her mouth tasted metallic, her tongue, weighted. And faintly, just barely there, the comforting scent of cloves.

* * *

><p><strong>I Wanna Know What Love Is – Foreigner (okay, if you've never heard it, you're missing a quintessential 80's big-hair tune…look it up…right now)<strong>

**The Trick is to Keep Breathing - Garbage**


	15. Chapter 15

"Your family has suffered enough," Jaqen sighed and Arya shrank at his implication, pulling her arms in as close to her body as the restraints would allow.

"But where am I?" she repeated, trying to change the course of the conversation. The overwhelming brightness in the room had not subsided, nor had the straps loosened as the tethered girl discreetly tried to work her hands free.

"Your endeavor is in vain. You will not be released." His accented words infuriated Arya. She stilled her movements and pressed her eyelids closed, deepening her breathing. If he wasn't going to answer her questions, she could play that game and would remain silent. Eventually, the aroma that embodied the assassin dissipated and the captive girl turned her head to confirm that he had departed, leaving her alone in the bleak room. Despite the illumination, Arya felt herself drift to sleep.

_The sweat beaded on Ned's forehead as he tried over and over to get the motorcycle to kick start; it would catch for a fraction of a second and then putter out. Arya desperately wanted to suggest that her father should check the fuel filter, that maybe some water had somehow water had worked its way into the line, but remained mute as the frustrated man's face twisted in anger. Trying to diffuse his ire, the shadowing daughter disappeared momentarily and returned with a tall glass of iced sweet tea. In the short time she was gone, Ned had pulled apart the fuel line and was inspecting the filter. _

_"__Water got in there," he grunted after a long drink._

_"__I thought so," Arya quietly offered. When her father questioned why she didn't say anything, the girl simply shrugged her shoulders. It seemed a bit presumptive to tell the expert that he was skipping something so basic. _

_"__Trust your instincts, kiddo," her massive dad said seriously, then ruffled her hair. "It will be your only friend sometimes."_

It could've been minutes or hours later when Arya jerked awake. She started bouncing her leg in a feeble attempt to make the pressure in her bladder subside. Distress building from the sensation, the miserable girl groaned and twisted in her restraints. "Come on!" she finally yelled at the blank walls, willing herself not to lose control over her bladder. A faint clicking noise and suddenly the straps were released from the table, although still tight around each wrist and ankle. Arya saw that each was in the shape of a tear drop that had a metal eye at the apex. A cursory glance at the table as she slid off revealed little and her gray eyes shifted to the stainless steel toilet that had been behind her head, formerly beyond her line of sight.

As the captive girl wrestled with embarrassment over having to use the exposed toilet, knowing someone was watching (possibly Jaqen), Arya chose to quash the modesty in favor of her resentment of being held captive in the white room. After she had relieved herself, the prisoner lowered her body to the floor, far away from the spiteful table and took time to inspect the room and herself. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt with nothing on underneath, Arya noted that all traces of her chipped, black nail polish had been removed. She folded her legs and contemplated who had changed her into the black yoga pants and double checked that she did, in fact, have on underwear that were not even a style she that owned.

Endless white floor to ceiling panels lined the walls of the small room, leaving the disoriented girl to wonder which was the door. Tilting her head one way and then the other, there were no gaps to indicate her way of escape, so Arya studied the non-descript table. From her low perch, the girl could not see anything unusual about the white, padded table. Apart from the toilet, it was the only other object in the room.

When a panel pushed open nearby, Arya scrambled away from it and up to her feet before seeing the familiar face of Joffrey's murderer. Slightly longer hair combed back, he watched her assess him. Dressed in a long sleeve black shirt and black trousers over black dress shoes, the manila folder he held was plainly obvious. Once inside the door, the man pressed it closed behind him. "Are you alright?" he inquired, the tone of his voice even, but almost whispered.

Incredulous, the hostage scoffed before answering. "Really? I wake up in a room, strapped to a table and you ask me if I'm okay? I just had to pee in front of gods-know-who! No…no, as a matter of fact, I'm not okay. And, I have these lovely bracelets and anklets as a token of my willingness to be here." She had not realized it, but Arya had crossed her arms in front of her chest in a meager attempt to hide anything that was displayed in the chilly room.

"It is the only way," was Jaqen's sole explanation. He remained at the door panel, staring at his ward. "You were too special to lose."

"What are you talking about?" the livid girl barked.

Opening the folder, Jaqen removed a photograph and held it in his outstretched hand for her to retrieve. Hesitantly, Arya walked close enough to snatch it from his grasp. As she turned it over to look at the details, her free hand flew to cover her mouth while Jaqen spoke. "That was a month ago." The twisted wreckage of a black car wrapped around a tree made her stomach flip. "Notice the plates. That dark spot on the ground, next to the wheel? That was where you were found and pronounced dead."

Arya shifted her gaze to the man a few feet away, swallowing hard before she answered. "I am not dead."

"No."

Struggling for a different approach to the same question, the girl looked at the picture again. "But, will you tell me where I am?" she whispered as she thought of Bran being left alone. And it was her fault. Jon…oh gods, Jon…Arya had to let him know that she wasn't dead!

Jaqen stepped closer and his scent comforted the distraught girl. "You should not have done what you did, Arya."

She looked up and couldn't stop the tears or the sob that bubbled up. "I just didn't want to think anymore," she wept. "It was too much."

"Yes, but you hurt others. Now they are without you." His hand went to the manila folder again and he placed another picture on top of the collision scene; the Stark headstone with her father's, mother's, Robb's and now her name carved into the base.

"What is this? I'm not dead! Where am I?" With each sentence, the sadness turned to disbelief and rekindled her anger. "If this was a month ago, how did I survive and how did you get me?" Her hand shook as it clamped down on the photographs.

Jaqen placed his free hand on her hand containing the photos. "You are here because you are special."

"Yeah, you already said that, but I have no idea what that means!" Arya yanked her hand from the man's grasp.

"I believe you have skills that will be useful in the future. You will work for my employer. You will train and be used in the same capacity that I am." His answer was devoid of concern and implied that she had no option but to accept.

Lifting her chin, Arya stubbornly asked, "And what if I choose not to?"

"More courage than sense," the assassin mumbled. Deliberately, Jaqen pointed to the Stark headstone on the second photograph. "There is your alternative, Arya Stark. It is a fairly simple choice and I believe you will make the correct one. You will trust your instincts because they are your only friend right now."

"And here I thought you were my friend," she quickly countered, her small voice filled with venom. It suited to throw words instead of letting the weight of Jaqen's sink in.

"No, my lovely girl," he murmured, his eyes looking sad, "I am not your friend. You have an hour to make your decision. Here are the rest of the photographs," the man said, presenting the manila folder to the shell-shocked brunette. "I will return shortly."

Left to her own devices, thoughts and subsequent internal warfare, the eighteen year old shuffled through the other pictures. Bran looked older than sixteen at the cemetery, slumped in his wheelchair, like a young man that had reluctantly accepted his position as the head of the family. Even Rickon looked years beyond twelve. Grief had robbed both boys of a carefree childhood and Arya knew she was partially to blame. She ground her fists into her eyes to try and dispel the image of Bran slapping his hands on the car window, screaming for her to stop.

The next blown-up picture was a side profile of Gendry, clean shaven and resting against a tree trunk in camouflage fatigues. He was laughing at someone near the camera, head tipped to the side and his teeth showing. Arya knew he was genuinely laughing; Gendry kept his teeth covered when he was laughing politely. She noticed a large backpack strapped on and wondered if he was deployed. Gently, as if he could feel it, she traced her finger over the top of his shaved head before flipping to the last photograph.

Jon Snow had identical eyes as the girl that stared at him; stone cold and sad at the same time. His hair had been shorn close and his beard and mustache were gone, making his sister smile at the foreign look on the familiar face; it had been years since Arya had seen him without facial hair. His uniform was black but obviously military. He sat behind a desk, looking directly at the camera. Jon's baby sister thought that he looked important, like a commander of some sorts, and that made her proud. At that moment, in the white room, Arya would have given anything to have Jon with her, to watch her make a face or call him stupid…to not feel so alone.

She had not realized the time had gone by until the door pushed open again and Jaqen reentered. Closing the folder, Arya knew that she didn't have a choice in the matter. In the back of her mind, her father's words echoed in Jaqen's voice and she trusted her instincts.

"My family will be safe?" she inquired.

"Just so."

"I will never do anything to harm them. I'd rather kill myself." After the ironic words tumbled out, Arya wished she had thought them out first. "I am not who you think I am; I'm not special."

Her hair had fallen forward and the concerned-looking assassin tucked a loose strand behind one ear, holding her stare, and shook his head back and forth. "Your training will begin soon. First, you will be moved to your quarters." As he spoke, the door opened and Jaqen motioned for the girl to follow his lead. They passed well-lit hallways, making so many turns that Arya was utterly confused and gave up trying to keep track. The pair never passed another soul in the bare passages, before the man in the lead stopped at a door with a number keypad and punched in a long sequence before the lock popped open.

The room, although nearly as sterile as the one they had just left, was in various tones of grey and had an uncomfortable looking bed instead of table. A stack of what appeared to be clothes sat on the utilitarian pillow. Jaqen motioned for Arya to sit and she obeyed. "You are hungry and have questions," he stated, reaching back towards the door that had not shut completely. An unseen person handed him a metal chair and a tray of food, which he presented to the seated girl.

Ravenously, Arya launched into the sandwich, which turned out to be peanut butter with strawberry jelly. Chastised to slow down by the now seated man, she still finished the sandwich quickly and drank the entire bottle of water before placing the tray to the side. "First, I'd like to know where I am. You seem to keep skipping over that part."

The side of Jaqen's mouth turned up in a smirk and those vexatious bronze eyes seemed to twinkle with mirth at her persistence. "The House of Black and White, but we refer to it as the House. It is run by the Elder; he oversees the entire operation of the House. The Waif runs logistics. Umma cooks up our weapons, bombs, any specialty ammunitions." The information spew left Arya wide eyed and bewildered. "You will meet them, in time."

"Are you training me?"

"Just so." Even though he had said he wasn't her friend, Arya silently prayed that she at least had an ally in this strange place where the people running it had even weirder names.

* * *

><p><strong>Phantogram – Howling at the Moon<strong>


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